


when you were young

by rutherbird



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Background Geralt/Yennefer - Freeform, Background Regis/Dettlaff, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Modern AU, Past Implied Cahir/Milva, Road Trip, Romance, Smut, Suicide mention, Summer Fling, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 64,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28772919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutherbird/pseuds/rutherbird
Summary: Everyone is running from something echoes in her head as she brushes the stray curls from his forehead whilst he sleeps. It's then she realises, she'll run from him too.
Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Comments: 50
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 2021 brainrot, let's go!

_you sit there in your heartache_

_waiting on some beautiful boy to_

_to save you from your old ways_

_you play forgiveness_

_watch it now, here he comes_

* * *

It’s not like she did this often.  
  
Maybe once or twice.  
  
Or, at least four times.  
  
It still counted as not often enough for it to become a habit.  
  
Ciri has been trailing the highway for what feels like hours; the sun was low in the sky when she first clambered out of Mistle’s bust-up, cherry-red Lamborghini Countach — which, naturally, was stolen — and gathered her backpack from the boot which she slammed shut for good measure. Now, the moon was fully up, peeking over the dunes and sand blowing here there and everywhere; in her eyes, in her mouth, in her hair.  
  
Gods, she needed someone to do her a solid. Just once.  
  
Several cars had passed her — not _too_ many. A couple of them had honked their horns when she held out her thumb. 

Assholes, the lot of them.  
  
Tires drag along the sand-covered roads of the desert and Ciri holds out her thumb, hoping that this was the one. Headlights shine briefly in her eyes and she remembers the state she was in; mascara and eyeliner no doubt dripping down her cheeks, lipstick smudged from where Kayleigh had hi—  
  
The car, or more aptly, the camper van pulls to a stop and Ciri sighs a breath of relief, no sense of fear. Who could be worse than the lot she just got rid of?  
  
Ciri heads over to the window, throwing her backpack over her shoulder as the driver rolled it down.  
  
“Can I help?” He asks softly and Ciri cannot help but look over him.  
  
Blue eyes, bluer than a summer’s ocean; hair with dark roots and blonde edges — a bad attempt at dying it, perhaps? She hopes it wasn’t a half-assed attempt at frosted tips, Gods help her. A sharp jawline, even sharper angles on his cheeks and nose; even in the darkening light, she can see the freckles littered upon it.  
  
Cute is her final verdict.   
  
“Could I get a lift?” Ciri asks, batting her eyelashes a little.  
  
“To where?” Her saviour asks another question, concern flashing in his eyes.  
  
“I don’t know yet.” She answers truthfully, shrugging her shoulders. “Would a gas station be alright?”  
  
He laughs a little but not in a mocking way like she was familiar with, “There’s a couple littered around here.”  
  
“Any will do.”  
  
“Hop in then.”  
  
He leans over and Ciri hears the click of the lock before he opens the door part the way for her. Ciri grabs the side to open it wider before hopping in; the leather of the seat is cold but not uninviting and the van smells a little too much like cigarette smoke for her liking.  
  
“Cahir,” He says after he starts the van on its trek along the road, Ciri noticing after a few seconds that his hand is outstretched towards her.  
  
“Oh— Cirilla. Ciri’ll do.” She carefully takes his hand and gives it a shake; his grip is firm and sure, something she isn’t used to and his fingers, impossibly long and nimble.  
  
“Nice to meet you.” He detangles their hands, putting it back on the steering wheel and his gaze directly to the endless road in front of them.  
  
Ciri slips her backpack in the footwell between her legs, “Thank you for the lift.”  
  
“Not a problem.” Cahir takes a moment to shift gears and she takes one to examine the back of the van.  
  
It’s quaint, clearly lived in but only recently; there’s a patchworked sofa that, judging by the duvet and pillows piled up on it, transforms into a pull-out bed. There are two cupboards either side of it, a small sink and what she thinks maybe a fridge. Quaint, indeed.  
  
“Do you live here?” She asks, mouth and thoughts running away with her.  
  
“Um, no.” He shakes his head, never taking his eyes off the road. “Roadtripping, instead.”  
  
“How nice,” Ciri remarks, staring out of the window. She makes a mental note of the scenery that sticks out, the random houses littered about in the dunes, just in case he does turn out to be a serial killer. It would be her luck, she thinks bitterly.  
  
“I don’t mean to pry—”  
  
“But you’re going to.”  
  
“Yes.” He clears his throat, “I’m not going to get in trouble for transporting you anywhere, am I? No police after you?”  
  
“I haven’t killed anyone.” Ciri laughs, turning in her seat to look at him.  
  
“You’re not in danger?” His eyes connect with hers and she can feel herself shrinking inwardly, his gaze direct and impossibly warm.  
  
She knows what she looks like, “I’m not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”  
  
“Noted.” He nods, eyes trailing over her face. “I wasn’t trying to imply…” 

“Yeah, don’t.” She crosses her arms and resumes looking out of the window; far off in the distance, there’s a dim glow of a gas station or perhaps a motel.  
  
Cahir keeps his mouth shut as they travel further down the road, closer to the bright lights. Ciri cannot help but think about Mistle; did she care where she was? She hadn’t even attempted to follow after her in the car or on foot — that should say enough about how much she cared.  
  
She should have said no to a journey through the desert. What did she think was going to happen? They were going to ride off into the sunset, ditch the rest of them? Not likely. Ciri represses the need to scoff bitterly; the last thing she wanted was for Cahir to think she was losing her mind and kick her out at the side of the road.  
  
“So,” He clears his throat, bringing her from the brink of her thoughts once more, “There’s a gas station here. Want me to pull in?”  
  
Ciri nods quickly, a little too quickly, “If you don’t mind.”  
  
A quick shrug of his shoulders, “Of course not.”  
  
Cahir turns the wheel of the campervan almost effortlessly, she takes a second or two to admire his hands; she imagines his touch to be gentle, tender and everything Mistle’s wasn’t.  
  
The gas station is gold and sickly green to catch attention from all corners of the wasteland sands. Ciri thinks it’s incredibly ugly and gaudy. There are precisely two cars in the station, one at a pump and the other parked behind the small convenience store; Ciri assumed it belonged to whatever poor soul was slaving away behind the checkout.  
  
Illuminated by an equally ugly neon pink sign, “A payphone.” Ciri blurts out, catching Cahir’s attention as he pulls up in one of the parking spots.  
  
He doesn’t say anything as he pulls the handbrake and unbuckles his seatbelt. “You need to use it?” He asks, after a little while.  
  
Ciri fiddles with the hem of her denim skirt, only realising how stupid her attire was. Really? Who headed out into the desert in a skirt, vest top, fishnets and sneakers for crying out loud?  
  
“I..don’t have any change.”  
  
Cahir doesn’t say anything again but fishes around in the pocket of his jeans, hand emerging after a minute or so with a meagre handful of silver pennies. “These do?”  
  
“Yeah,” Ciri clears her throat, not so used to random acts of kindness, “Thank you.”  
  
“Hang on.” He says once she grabs the handle of the door. Cahir reaches behind his chair and his hand disappears into a hidden pouch there. “Here, for your...eyes.” He hands her a packet of wet wipes.  
  
Ciri snorts, “Right. Thanks.” Quickly, she takes one of the wipes from the packet before throwing it onto the dashboard and rubbing the wipe across her face; black ink and who knows what else coming off. “How’s that?” 

He stares at her, as if she spoke a language that had just been invented, his eyes darting across her face. He blinks slowly and then swallows. “All gone.”

Ciri frowns in his general direction briefly and discreetly. 

“Can I, um, leave my backpack here whilst I use the phone?” 

“Of course. I’m just going-“ He pauses to point, “-to buy some food and whatnot.” 

“Okay.” She grabs the handle—

“Do you want, or maybe, need anything?” 

She hadn’t been asked that in a long while. 

“No, thank you. I’m not sure I feel up to it, my stomach’s in knots. A drink would be nice, though.” She nods her head as he shoots her a sympathetic smile. She didn’t want his pity but he did look very cute when he looked at her, eyes big and blue. “I’ll pay you back when I—“

“It’s just a drink.” He raises his hand to stop her from speaking, “Not a pint of blood, Ciri.” 

“Right.” She chuckles awkwardly, “I’ll just be a moment.” 

Ciri hops out of the campervan and quickly walks over to the payphone, trying her hardest to not check him out over her shoulder. 

The night was cold and she shivers as she puts some of the pennies into the slot before she dials a number and picks up the phone. 

It rings for a long time as she stands, spare arm wrapped around herself in a weak effort to keep at least a little warm. 

“Hello?” 

“Yennefer?” Ciri uses both hands to clutch the phone, “It’s me.” 

From the end of the other line, Ciri hears Yennefer shuffling around, “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I know, I know. It’s just—“ She pauses, “Shit! The time difference. I didn’t wake you and Geralt, did I?” 

“No, you caught me just as I was about to head to work. It’s early in the morning, though.” The scrape of a metal chair — Yennefer is in the kitchen. “Is everything alright?” 

“I broke up with Mistle.” 

“I see.”

Ciri can just picture her expression.  
  
“For good, this time.” She promises despite Yennefer’s sigh at the other end; they had been here many times before. 

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”  
  
“No, it’s alright.” Ciri wills herself to not cry, not here, not now. “I caught a lift.”  
  
“From whom?”  
  
“Some guy. I hitched a lift off the side of the road.”  
  
“Ciri!” Yen hisses, causing the line to crackle, “Why didn’t you just phone?”

“I was in the middle of nowhere! I just walked away and I was lost.” Ciri takes a shaky breath, “I’m fine. He’s...alright. Quiet.”  
  
“Ciri, I love you but we both know you’re not the best judge of character.”  
  
Ciri snorts, “I know. He gave me money to call…”  
  
“In return for what?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Ciri looks over her shoulder to see if she can spot Cahir in the store or walking towards the van but there isn’t a single sign of him, “Nothing, I don’t think.”  
  
“Right.” Yennefer sounds weary, “Where are you headed? I can come and collect you.”  
  
“We’re in the Korath at the moment, I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t know where _I’m_ going.” Ciri sniffles pathetically and rubs at her eye, shivering.  
  
“Ciri…”  
  
“Is Geralt around?”  
  
“He’s sleeping.”  
  
“Oh…”  
  
“Ciri?” Yennefer’s line crackles again as she gets up off the chair, “If this man—”  
  
“Boy. He’s not that older than me.” She corrects. 

“ _Boy_ then.” Yennefer clears her throat and Ciri can hear the scribble of a pen, “If he’s got a phone, mobile, anything. Then call again when you can and tell me. You need to keep in touch.”  
  
“Alright, alright.” Yennefer’s experience as a military wife overcame any situation, “Are you still in Toussaint?”  
  
“No,” Yennefer’s voice hitches as Ciri realises they’re further away than she initially thought, “We’re back in Gwenllech now.”  
  
“Oh.” Ciri rubs her face with her spare hand, “I can come home, can’t I?”  
  
“Of course!” Yennefer sighs gently, “It’s your home as much as it is ours.”  
  
The bell to the store rings, alerting her to Cahir’s presence. Ciri glances over her shoulder and he doesn’t walk over to her or pay her a second glance, he walks straight to his van and climbs in the back.  
  
“I have to go.”  
  
“Alright. Remember what I said.”  
  
“I will. I have.” Ciri tries to make herself sound braver, “I don’t know how far out the next gas station is. It might be a couple of days.”  
  
“I’ll wait near the phone. Same time, every morning until I hear from you.”  
  
“Okay.” Ciri pauses and then, “I love you. Tell Geralt.”  
  
“I will and I love you too. Be safe.”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
The payphone begins to beep and the line cuts off before she can add anything else to the conversation. Ciri hangs up the phone, desperate to hear Yennefer’s voice for just a little bit longer but she was out of pennies and she didn’t want to seem like a charity case.  
  
She drags her feet back to the campervan, clearing her throat so she doesn't startle Cahir who she can hear shuffling in the back.  
  
“Cahir?”  
  
“Yes?” He pokes his head over the top of the van’s door, smiling rather cutely. In her stomach, something foolishly flutters. 

“Would it be okay if you could give me a ride out of the desert?”  
  
“Of course.” He agrees without so much as a second thought, “I was heading that way myself.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
He nods offering her a paper cup he had bought from the garage, “Yeah. Told you. I’m road-tripping.”  
  
Ciri eyes him up and down before taking the cup; hot chocolate inside. “How did you know I liked hot chocolate?”  
  
“I didn’t.” He shrugs before he pulls a sweater over his head, “You just looked like you needed it.”  
  
She tentatively takes a sip of the hot chocolate; it’s perfectly hot, sweet and warms every inch of her bones that were growing colder the more she stood outside the van.  
  
“Are you carrying on into the night, or?”  
  
“No, gonna rest here for a bit. The worker said it was fine so long as we keep the van parked here — designated spots and all that.” Cahir explains, gathering a pillow and throwing it into the passenger seat effortlessly.  
  
“We?” Ciri raises a brow in his direction.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to—” His cheeks turn bright red almost instantly. Ciri holds back a snigger.  
  
“I’m joking.” She laughs just a tad obnoxiously, “I’d appreciate the warmth and somewhere to lay down that isn’t the backseat of a cramped car.”  
  
Cahir smiles gently and looks briefly at the floor. “If you’re sticking around for several more hours, I’m sure I’ll get used to your sense of humour.”  
  
“About that…” Ciri trails off to gulp her hot drink. It burns her throat. “Where are you headed, you know, after Korath?”  
  
He shrugs, shoving some packets of crisps and bottled water into cupboards that Ciri had no idea existed in that cramped backseat, “Metinna, I think. I heard they have the best rosé this side of Toussaint.”  
  
“Could you—”  
  
“Tagging along?” He guesses the words that are about to come out of her mouth. Ciri hates him for it.  
  
“Just until Mettina’s first gas station, if you don’t mind.”  
  
“I don’t mind at all.” Cahir hops down from the back of the van; Ciri realises she has to look up to speak to him. Her and Mistle, despite most of their other differences, were the same height. “You looked like you needed help. I’m just...glad to be of service.”  
  
Ciri can’t find any words to bring herself to say and settles for just offering him a sincere smile. He accepts because of course he does. Ciri has known him for all of an hour or almost two and she senses the loneliness and longing that oozes from him; it’s too similar to her own for her liking.  
  
“You take the backseat’s bed.” He offers, opening the passenger seat door.  
  
“What about you?” She inquires despite the rather cosy looking pullout calling her name, “Where are you sleeping?”  
  
“The chairs in the front. They recline.” He points gently at the pillow.  
  
“Oh.” She swallows thickly, “Thank you.”  
  
He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, “Don’t dwell on it. I put a hoodie in there for you, just to keep you warmer. Please don’t say thank you again.”  
  
Ciri laughs a little and just nods, watching as he climbs in the seat and shuts the door. She takes it upon herself to climb in the back, firstly setting her paper cup down. Rather quickly, she finds the latch and the bed all but springs out into form, already half made. It’s rather big and roomy for just one person, she thinks as she pulls the duvet from one of the top storage shelves and sets it down neatly across the mattress.

Cahir’s hoodie is atop of the pillows and Ciri quickly pulls it over herself; it smells like freshly shaved wood, cologne and smoke — him, she thinks.  
  
“Here.” His voice pulls her from her absent-minded drooling, her backpack in his hand.  
  
“Oh! I forgot about it.”  
  
He snorts, “Don’t worry. Lights out?”  
  
“Sure.” She agrees, quickly grabbing the pillows.  
  
She hears Cahir click the light before they delve into the dark night of the desert. As quietly as possible, she shuffles into the bed.  
  
The top of the campervan is made of glass and the night sky looks down upon her, stars twinkling as she buries her feet as far into the duvet as humanly possible. She wonders where Mistle is once again; if she is thinking the same thing, looking at the same stars as she is. Only a small part of her cares.  
  
The last thing she hears before the desperately needed sleep takes over her is Cahir’s whisper of a goodnight blessing and the creak of his chair reclining.  
  
The last thing she thinks is that, for the first time in a while, she’s completely safe.

* * *

By the time she opens her eyes the next morning, it’s like laying in a greenhouse; the sun shining through the sunroof above her.  
  
It takes a second or three for her to realise where she is.  
  
Once she’s stretched out discreetly enough, she climbs into the passenger seat, Cahir one step ahead of her with the windows rolled down as far as they could go.  
  
“Good morning.” He greets, chirpy. He is wearing a thin, button-up shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. She wills herself to not stare at his legs — they weren’t rather muscular, she had seen better but she couldn’t stop herself from occasionally glancing at them, all the same.  
  
“Morning,” She grunts, “You got any sunglasses?”  
  
She sees him raise a brow but ever the careful driver, he doesn’t take his eyes off the road, “Glove compartment.”  
  
Ciri nods, her eyes having a hard time adjusting to the sunlight they had been in a permanent squint since she opened them. Quickly, she grabs the hem of Cahir’s hoodie that she was still wearing and lifts it over her head almost effortlessly.  
  
She catches him looking when it’s over her head and tossed into the backseat. Luckily for her, she isn’t the type to shy away from attention, especially when it came from someone she found quite cute — that’s what got her in this mess in the first place — and it makes her feel almost good about herself. After being down in the dumps, eyeliner dripping down her face, clothes stained with Gods-know-what, it was a pleasant surprise.  
  
The tint on his cheeks tells her he knew he was caught in the act.  
  
She could toy with him, she thinks, play with his uncomfortableness and torment him —  
  
But the sun was getting on her last nerve, so she decides against it.  
  
“Fake aviators?” She scoffs, opening the glove compartment and perching the sunglasses correctly on her head. They’re black tinted and rather comfortable, the only way she knew they were fake was because of how badly they jingle when they move or there is a bump in the road.  
  
“I’m not made of money.”  
  
“Your campervan says otherwise.”  
  
“It was a gift.” He clenches the wheel tightly for a brief second before his knuckles return to a normal colour, “Anyone told you you’re nosy?”  
  
“Only the people I ditched.” She shrugs. Is that what she was calling it now? Ditching? Not I-discovered-my-girlfriend-tried-to-drug-me? “How far are we from Metinna?” 

It alarms her just a little, how she felt more comfortable with a stranger than she did with her former friends. It’s almost as if she had known him longer than — she glances at the dashboard’s clock — sixteen hours.  
  
“Not real far. Maybe three to four hours?” He scratches the bridge of his nose, “There’s a map in the glove compartment too.” Cahir briefly takes one hand on off the wheel to lean over and reopen the compartment. His breath is hot on her skin.   
  
“I got it,” Ciri says firmly, perhaps a bit too firm. It makes him back off, both hands back on the wheel.  
  
“Sorry.” He murmurs, just low enough for her to hear over the wind blustering through both of their open windows like they were in a tunnel.  
  
“It’s okay.” She accepts his apology and grabs the map. A snicker leaves her mouth involuntary, “Gods, a paper, fold-out map? How old are you, grandpa?”  
  
“Hey.” Cahir takes his eyes off the road to frown at her, “There’s not always a good signal ‘round these parts for my phone.”  
  
“Right…” She laughs again, enjoying this moment of banter far too much. “You tell that to all the girls you let in your van?”  
  
His cheeks flush bright red, “I don’t make a habit of it.”  
  
“I’m pulling your leg.” She grins for devilment, “Don’t be so serious. You’ll get more frown lines, grandpa.”  
  
He snorts at that, “I’m twenty-eight. Far from being a grandpa.”  
  
“I’ll let you off then,” She murmurs, beginning to unfold the map. “Your phone? Can I have its number? My, um, Mum, asked it so she could keep in contact. It was her who I called last night.”  
  
Cahir nods, “Sure. I’ll write it down for you when we stop next. I’ve no money on it though. Only incoming calls, I’m afraid.”  
  
Ciri sighs a little, “We can work with it. If you don’t mind having to pass me your mobile every time she calls.”

He laughs, properly this time. It’s a nice sound, she thinks. “Don’t worry, Ciri. My mother, she’s the same.”  
  
“I think they all.” She decides and he hums in agreement as she finishes unfolding the map.  
  
It’s practically a foreign language to her. She turns it this way and that, then repeats two more times.  
  
Cahir clears his throat gently, “Upside down.”  
  
“Oh.” Ciri bites her tongue to save him from one of her witty remarks, “Thanks.”  
  
He doesn’t say anything else and leaves her to trying to figure out the ways and wisdom of the map.  
  
“I think…” She grunts in a small effort, realising her tongue was poking out the side of her mouth, “We’re about….hundred miles away.”  
  
“Not far at all, then.” Cahir had a habit of turning the wheel of the van with his whole body, she notes, “Wanna grab something to eat?”  
  
“Not like I have much of a choice,” Ciri replies, peeking out over the top of the map to see Cahir pulling into the parking lot of a diner that looked greasy even on the outside. Yum.  
  
“Well, I’m hungry.” He answers her matter of factly, leaving no room for an argument. Smug bastard.  
  
“Me too.” Her stomach gives a slight rumble as if it heard her, “I still don’t have money.”  
  
Cahir sighs gently, turning the engine off and removing the key from the ignition, “I’m buying it for myself. We’ll go halves. You don’t owe me anything that way if it makes you feel better.” 

Ciri sighs frustrated, “I don’t like owing people, being beholden to them. Independence is my thing. I like taking care of myself.”  
  
“Can you be beholden to someone if they’re offering without a choice to decline? Ciri, it’s just food.” He sighs, shoving his keys in a pocket she didn’t think existed in shorts like that, “And sometimes, it’s nice to not always have to take care of yourself. In more ways than one.” 

Cahir exits the van swiftly, leaving her sitting with nothing but her thoughts and legs sticking to the leather.  
  
She hated it. Hated that he could somehow read her like a book. Were the looks on her face so obvious even to a stranger? 

With a way too dramatic sigh, Ciri pulls the sun visor down and finds the mirror she was looking for. 

Her hair is a mess, her eyes are puffy almost beyond recognition, she has a zit mysteriously appearing right in the centre of her forehead and she needs a mint _and_ some deodorant.

Why was he being so kind to her when she looked like _that_? 

Maybe it was because her legs looked good in the fishnets. Or maybe because her vest made her tits look slightly bigger than they were.

Definitely one of those two.

There’s no sign of him heading out of the diner with their food just yet and so, Ciri quickly grabs her backpack from the still unmade bed and gets to work. 

Thank the Gods she had remembered to shove her hairbrush in the bag when she was so desperate to leave. Quickly, she forces it through her hair, all knotted and luggy until it resembles its normal blonde waves. 

Next out of her bag is hand sanitiser; not essential to her right now but could come in handy. Breath mints — she greedily pops two into her mouth. There are some tampons in the bag too and she silently prays Mother Nature will do her a favour, just once. Further in the bowels of her bag is a hair tie, lipstick, several pennies of a currency that isn’t accepted this far South along with a notepad and pen.

Ciri curses herself for not packing better. She had nothing. 

Not even a spare bra or set of pants. 

Things could get stinky and dirty quickly. 

At least, as a last resort, there was a sink. Cahir seems like the sort of man who can control himself around a woman who didn’t wear a bra for an hour or two. 

Almost on cue, Ciri sees him exit the diner in the rearview and climbs out, quickly throwing her backpack on her shoulder. She pushes the sunglasses atop her head just in time to see him crack a smile. It’s goofy and cute and just a little bit contagious. 

“Breakfast?” She asks as she walks over, happy to have a little breeze in her legs and not the sticky sensation of leather seats. 

“Indeed.” He answers, finding a little picnic bench for them to sit on. It’s hidden from the breeze and the sand blowing here, there and everywhere.  
  
“Looks deliciously greasy,” Ciri notes as she sits opposite him, the food placed in the centre of the table, “Yum.”  
  
Cahir raises an eyebrow at that, cutting into the sandwich with a plastic fork, “Didn’t take you for the sort of girl to love greasy food.”  
  
“Why not?” She’s practically salivating as he puts her half onto several napkins and pushes it towards her, “Judging people by their appearance, huh?”   
  
“I didn’t mean it exactly like that.” He huffs slightly before taking, quite frankly, the largest mouthful she’s ever seen out of his breakfast sandwich, “Aside from the whole walking desert roads and eyeliner dripping down your face, you seem awfully prim and proper.”  
  
She snorts, “Far from it.”  
  
He watches her bite a mouthful almost large enough to rival his own, “I see that now.” They both chuckle in unison; Ciri finds it odd, to feel so at ease constantly but she puts it down to him not knowing her — if he did then he would have run miles by now.  
  
Ciri devours her half of the sandwich rather quickly, famished doesn’t quite cover it and the saltiness of the bacon leaves her desperate for a drink.  
  
“Do you happen to have a pen in that bag of yours?” Cahir asks, finishing wiping his hands on a napkin.  
  
“Yeah, here.” Ciri puts her bag on the table and roots around for the pen, “I’ve got some paper too if you want it.”  
  
“That’d be great.” She sees him itching to say something, a witty remark most probably, but he decides against it. Ciri rummages in her bag a little more before she withdraws the notepad and passes it over to him.  
  
Cahir murmurs thanks and scribbles a number down on the paper before passing it back to her. She takes a quick gander at the number — it’s longer than hers but she suspected that was due to them coming from different parts of the Continent — that she had figured that out early on. 

Smarter than she looks, she thought smugly   
  
“I’ll pass it on.” Ciri folds the notepad back up and slips it into her bag as Cahir stands up, throwing away the small cardboard container their meal came in into one of the provided bins.  
  
“I asked the waitress in there about gas stations and whatnot.” Cahir clears his throat briefly, “She said on the border, there’s a gas station come motel. You could ring your Mom there.”  
  
“Right,” Ciri nods, throwing her bag back on her shoulder, perhaps a tad more aggressive than she aimed for, “That’s helpful.”  
  
Cahir just shoots her a half-crooked smile, eyes twinkling as he heads back to the van. Ciri follows because she has no other choice and because deep down, she does have a choice and she knows it, but she’s becoming more and more intrigued by her mysterious stranger. 

“Do you have anything to drink?” She asks after watching him put away the bed _she_ was using. She didn’t ask and was going to do it herself, but when someone else does it for you...Well. Ciri silently wonders what else he would do for her if she stood there, in the sun, twirling her hair around a finger. 

“Shit, I didn’t tell you?” He looks genuinely angry at himself, frown lines creasing his forehead.

“Nope.” She chuckles a bit, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, though.” 

Cahir sighs, opening one of the cabinets to reveal a mini cooler next to what she is still assuming to be a fridge, “They’re all in here.” He grabs a can of something fizzy and throws it to her. She catches first try — that’s what playing on your school’s netball team against your wishes gets you. “You can’t get into when the bed’s pulled out though.”

“Ah, that would explain it.”  
  
He chuckles to himself, “It’s nice to see I’m not the only person with an aversion to making a bed, borrowed or my own.”  
  
“I thought a lot of people hated making their beds?” Ciri asks, opening the passenger door and throwing her bag in the footwell.  
  
“Not according to my family.” Cahir scoffs lightly as he talks but she doesn’t ask him to elaborate as he climbs in the driver’s side. “I was always the lazy one.”  
  
Ciri laughs now as he places the keys back into the ignition and starts the van, engined thrumming to life.  
  
“Me too.” She nods mostly to herself as Cahir’s attention is back on the road as he heads out of the diner’s car park, “I’m an only child and still somehow the lazy one.” She pauses before continuing in a moment of inquisitiveness, “Do you have any siblings?”  
  
“Several,” Cahir answers rather curtly and Ciri considers it an end to the conversation, sensing his daily wasn’t something he particularly wanted to talk about right now or with her. 

Ciri lets the conversation simmer away into silence, nothing between them for the moment except the sound of the tyres against the dusty roads and the breeze from the rolled down windows whipping her hair around the seat’s headrest.  
  
The desert sand is becoming less and less the longer they go on and green tufts of grass begin to poke out.  
  
There’s only so much silence she can take on their journey out so she takes it upon herself to flick the switch on the radio, some racket blasting out. She quickly turns the dial to lower it, just a little.  
  
“Dad rock? Oh, grandpa…” She smirks to herself, leaning her head against the door frame, breeze blowing in her face. 

“Hey,” He laughs heartily, eyes crinkling at their corners, “Don’t insult my road trip music. We don’t know each other well enough yet.” 

“Please,” She rolls her eyes, still smiling despite the incessant banging of the bass, “I’m pretty sure this is something my Dad would listen to.”

“Then when you call home, tell him he has excellent taste.” Cahir retorts, obviously incredibly pleased with himself.  
  
Ciri chuckles to herself, “Shut up.” Her eyes start feeling heavier and Cahir switches the radio station to something calmer. She admires the way he reads her mind but great Gods, why did it have to be a breakup song? 

She swallows thickly and turns her body slightly away from Cahir, fully facing the window. He reads her mind again, as if by magic and switches to something else, equally as calming but less saddening. 

“Thank you.” She murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself as if that would protect her from the harm that had already been done. 

“It’s alright,” His voice comes out incredibly soft, like velvet brushing against her senses. Cahir leaves the conversation at that and she’s grateful for that, in more ways than one. 

The wind from the window is warm, the sun shining through the sunroof and Ciri finds herself drifting off into a dreamless slumber. 

* * *

Ciri wakes by almost jumping out of her skin; there’s nothing around to startle her, only the distant memories of dreams — or more fittingly, nightmares — about Mistle and her ‘little treats’. She instantly looks to her side but there’s no sign of Cahir, relief floods her briefly and then panic. It wouldn’t be the first time she woke up alone and abandoned.  
  
She curls her hand into a fist and uses her knuckles to chase the grit of sleep from her eyes before stretching both her arms, her elbows giving an awfully loud crack as she did. It’s only then that she notices a threadbare but still, a blanket draped over her. It smells comforting, in an odd way, like it’s something that has been well looked after and loved, the complete opposite of herself.  
  
“Hey,” His voice comes from behind and Ciri turns in her seat to peer into the back of the van, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
  
“You didn’t.” She sends him a sleepy smile, “Thank you for the blanket.”  
  
Cahir salutes and she finds it rather adorable, stupidly.  
  
“We crossed the border a half hour or so ago and the temperature dropped. Didn’t want you to catch a cold.” He doesn’t speak when he looks at her, far too busy taking items out of three plastic carrier bags.  
  
It’s only then Ciri decides to look out of the window, realising she had no clue where they are. It’s less empty than the gas station back in the Korath Desert but it’s still largely spacious; there are two vans and three cars, two petrol pumps, a convenience store and a small bed and breakfast behind them that is complete with gaudy, pink neon lights.   
  
“Do you know if there’s a payphone?” She asks, turning her attention back to Cahir who is still putting food away into certain compartments; he even loads raw goods into what’s now confirmed as a fridge. 

“Yeah, I asked whilst you were dozing.” He coughs into his elbow, shutting the mini-fridge door, “Over near the motel, there’s a little booth. It’s next to their outdoor facilities.” 

“Great!” Ciri replies, taking the blanket off herself and folding it neatly before she places it on the dashboard. She remembers to grab her bag, too.

“Here,” He taps her shoulder and Ciri turns to be greeted by his hand, holding out a couple of coins; he’s incredibly lanky, she now realises as his stretched-out torso almost takes up the full backseat, “Enough for ten minutes. It’s all the spare change I had.” 

“Cahir…” She begins her protest, knowing she didn’t have money to make the call and he was showing her an extreme kindness that she needed very much right now. She just couldn’t help herself. 

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He practically shoves the coins into her hand and gently closes her fingers around them; her breath almost catches in her throat. Ciri thought only sappy bullshit like that happened in clichè romance movies and period dramas. It astounds her what a simple show of kindness could do. “I just want to see you get home safe.” 

“And there’s no catch?” Her hackles are up, defensive mechanisms slowly beginning to fire up, “I don’t believe it.” 

He scoffs followed by a shake of his head, “Have I given you a reason to think there’s a catch?”

She narrows her eyes and straightens her back as she stares directly at him, seeing if it would make him trip up. “No, you haven’t.” 

“Right then.” Cahir sighs, clearly annoyed by her remark. Ciri realises he has a point, any other guy she knew or any jerk from the side of the road would have expected her bent over the car’s hood, pants around their ankles. She knows that but she doesn’t want to admit it to herself just yet. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom. I’ll meet you near the payphone when I’m done?” 

“Yeah,” She swallows thickly and then nods her head, “Sounds great.” 

“Alright,” Cahir mutters before shuffling out of the back of the van, closing the cupboards as he goes.  
  
Once the door shuts to signal he’s left, Ciri lets out a puff of air she desperately held in before opening the door and stepping out. She can instantly tell they’re no longer anywhere near the Korath but the air still has that desert chill to it for the middle of summer.  
  
Ciri fishes around in her bag for the piece of paper Cahir had written his number on and finds it just as she reaches the small phone booth; it’s partly enclosed with plastic at the sides and on the back for at least some privacy.   
  
Her hands shake as puts in the coins then dials Yennefer’s number and she doesn’t know why. Nerves? Excitement?  
  
“Hello?” Yennefer answers after the line rang for what felt like hours, again. Ciri had told her when they moved in to not put the phone in a nonsensical part of the house — it took too long to get to it.  
  
“It’s me, Ciri.” She wills her voice to keep steady, hating this part the most; she could put on the bravest face possible in front of literally anyone but as soon as Yennefer’s tones came through the earpiece of the phone, any resolve she had crumbled completely. 

“Ciri!” Yennefer sounds extremely happy and that gets Ciri smiling. At least she still had that effect on her most beloved ones, “I’m so glad to hear you. Are you okay? Still with the same boy? Where are you now?”  
  
The barrage of questions make her chuckle down the phone, “I’m fine,” Ciri twirls the wire of the phone round and round her fingers, “We’re in Mettina now. It’s been...oddly nice.” 

“Oh, that’s good to hear.” Yennefer moves a chair closer to the phone, the scrape of metal against the floor causing slight feedback, “It didn’t take you long?”  
  
“No, um, he drives fast.” She chuckles again to try and ease Yennefer’s nerves, if that was possible.  
  
“Sounds worse than Geralt.”  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
“You know what he’s like.” Yennefer sighs. Ciri wishes they would resolve their differences, once and for all. “Staying with Dandelion for a little bit.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Yennefer.” Ciri sighs too, feeling as if she made everything worse by leaving, “I wish I were home to keep you company.”  
  
“Don’t worry about me, little one.” The nickname never changed no matter how older and taller she got, “It’s my turn to worry about you.”  
  
“I’m fine, honestly.” She makes it so her voice doesn’t falter even though she’s not lying. She was more than fine with Cahir, better than she had been in a decent while. She was enjoying his company.  
  
“Alright,” Yennefer pauses, “Did you get his number?”  
  
“Yeah, I have it here. Ready?” Ciri waits for Yennefer’s hum of confirmation before reciting the number he had scribbled onto the sheet of paper, “Did you get it?”  
  
“Yes, thank you.” Yennefer pauses, the sound of scribbling consuming the phone line for a moment, “What’s his name?”  
  
“Cahir. I don’t have his last name.”  
  
“Cahir, did you say?” Yennefer scribbles some more and then, “Interesting…”  
  
Ciri frowns just a little, “What’s interesting?”  
  
“Nothing.” Yennefer reassures her but Ciri knows there’s something amiss in the lilt of her words, “And I can ring you?”  
  
“Yeah, we just can’t call out.”  
  
“That boy needs to get some money on his phone.” Yennefer’s motherly tone comes across fiercely, “Have you figured out how you’re getting home yet?”  
  
“No,” Ciri scratches the top of her head, suddenly all too aware of the time ticking down on the phone’s counter, “I thought maybe I should ask him, you know, if he’ll bring me all the way. Or maybe throw a few hints out.”  
  
“You could but be careful.” A constant warning for Ciri. One that she never listened to. “And what are you going to give him in return?”  
  
“Yennefer.” Ciri all but hisses, looking behind to make sure no one could hear her, “Certainly not that.”  
  
Yennefer laughs, “I wasn’t suggesting that! You’ve inherited Geralt’s dirty mind, no doubt.” Ciri’s cheek flush red — she’s glad for the cover of nightfall. “I mean, you blew all your money on Mistle and your friends.”  
  
With her spare hand, Ciri rubs at her temple, “Don’t remind me.” She wants to purge any lingering memory of those _rats_ from her mind, “I’m going to have to go. Only a minute left.”  
  
“Alright.” Yennefer sounds quieter than Ciri often remembers her being and she can’t quite put her finger on it but she wasn’t going to pry, not over the phone and certainly not to Yennefer herself, “I’ll get in touch in...a week? Is that good?”  
  
“Yeah, should be fine.” Ciri agrees, making a mental reminder, “Tell Geralt I asked about him, if you see him and to stop being an idiot already.”  
  
Yennefer chuckles at that, “I will. I love you. Be careful.”  
  
“I love you, too.” Ciri manages to get out before the line cuts. She carefully hangs the phone back onto its holder and steps out of the plastic booth.  
  
The neon lights blind her when she first looks at them but she sees Cahir approaching and something clicks — most likely a lightbulb — in her head.  
  
“Hey,” She says a little loudly to catch his attention, “Do you have any towels?”  
  
“Sure, in the van.” His voice is slurred due to the cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. It explains the faint scent of smoke that lingered everywhere in the van. Ciri found herself welcoming the smell with the hours and days that passed by. “Why?”  
  
“I’m going for a dip!” She grins, her old self returning, even if it only ended up being extremely brief. “Joining me?”  
  
“Are you joking?” There’s laughter in his voice but it’s the disbelieving kind, “We’ll get shot. We’re not paying! And it’s not well lit! We could drown!”  
  
“Come on!” Ciri is already on her way to the gate that’s discreetly hiding around the side, probably to stop people like her. She never did listen to warnings. Her fatal flaw. “Live a little, Cahir!”  
  
As she shimmies into the gate and quickly makes her way to the pool she realises Cahir was right about it being dark; she can just make out the small waves of the water being made by the breeze. It’s nice, she thinks, this semblance of peace and how she wishes it would last, just forever. There are some steps leading into the pool that she can just make out but, who uses them anyway? There are also some sun loungers placed around the edges of the pool but far enough away so there’s that room to walk.  
  
Ciri places her bag on one of the loungers and runs her hands through her hair, wishing she had some shampoo — the bubbles would disappear before the cleaner came in the morning.  
  
“Fuck it.” She murmurs to herself and kicks off her sneakers before moving them gently with her foot underneath the lounger. Next, she slips off her fishnets which, quite frankly, she was glad to take off, followed by her skirt and vest. Ciri hesitates for a mere moment but there was still no sign of Cahir and so she thinks fuck it again and sheds her underwear. They were that scanty she may as well not be wearing them anyway. 

Quickly, she scoops them out and sets on top of the lounger before she steps into the pool.  
  
“Fucking—” She wheezes, not at all prepared for how heart-stoppingly cold the water would be. Perhaps she should have listened, after all…  
  
Her body has just finished adjusting itself to the cold when she hears the gate hinge creak, signalling that it was opening.  
  
“Cahir?”   
  
“It’s me.” His voice calls back from the dark, she can barely make his outline as he puts the towels — she assumes — onto the lounger where her clothes are. “Are you skinny dipping? _Ciri._ ” His voice raises in pitch towards the end and she laughs, or more aptly, cackles.  
  
“I desperately needed to wash.” She’s not lying despite the scoff he makes.  
  
“Not sure whether I like this mischievous side of yours that keeps popping out today.” His voice is soft and warm like honey, “What’s gotten into you?”  
  
Ciri runs her hands through her hair, slicking it back and ignoring the droplets running down her face and attaching themselves wherever they could, “I spoke with Yennefer—” Cahir squats, ready to listen as she moves towards the edge of the pool and grips the edge, “She told me something about my Dad, that he was with one of his friends—”  
  
“Is everything alright?” Cahir asks, not letting her finish.  
  
“Yes,” Ciri sighs before going on, “That friend said something once, on one of his rare occasions of wisdom. He said we should enjoy life while we can. Do what makes us happy.”  
  
“I agree,” Cahir says, engaging in her conversation to show he was listening. It was nice. Friendly, kind. Caring.  
  
“And I’m tired of reminiscing and moping about people who treated me and left me like last week’s garbage. I’m allowed to be free of them, too. If they’re allowed to discard me carelessly and not give it a second thought, then so am I.”  
  
“Impressive.” She can just about make out his chuckle and the side of his head; he was averting his eyes. She finds it oddly endearing. “And skinny dipping is going to do that for you?”  
  
“Yes.” She pauses, “Don’t be a sarcastic asshole.” 

“I’m not.” She can just about make out his outline edging away from the pool, “There’s a difference between lightly poking fun and being an asshole.” 

“You’re right.” She hums in thought, “So, are you joining me?” She looks up at his shadow, batting her eyelashes _just_ a little as if she was a siren luring a sailor to the depths. 

He laughs. Loud.

“I don’t think so.” 

“Why not?” 

She imagines him to shrug, “I don’t know, it’s not my thing.”

She scoffs and raises a brow, “Swimming?”

“Not really. I don’t wanna get too wet either.” 

Ciri rolls her eyes and then flicks as much water as possible over in his direction. Judging by his gasp and angry shuffling of his feet: it lands.

“Ciri!”

“Whoops.” She laughs, swimming away and to the other side, “You’re wet now. Looks like you can get in, spoilsport.”  
  
“For fuck’s sake,” He mutters, laughing as she hears the thud of his shoes, “Look away then.”  
  
“It’s pitch black!” Ciri protests, still laughing to herself.  
  
“And? I can still see the outline of your head.” He argues right back, deadly serious. 

“Fine.” She huffs, swimming towards the very edge of the pool as best she can and putting a hand over her eyes, “Alright, I’m seeing nothing.”  
  
“Okay…” His voice is hesitant but it never loses its softness.  
  
Ciri can hear the shuffling of him undressing but keeps to her word and keeps her hand firmly over her eyes until she hears the water splash loudly and the spray of water everywhere.  
  
“Did you just cannonball?”  
  
“What about it?” She laughs as he lets out a loud puff of air, “It’s fucking freezing.”  
  
“You’re not gonna die.”  
  
“Sure feels like it.” She can almost hear his teeth chattering as he talks; water rippling from where he was moving around to adjust to the temperature quicker.  
  
“Recovered yet?” Ciri asks a few moments later when he had stopped breathing heavily and the water had relaxed.  
  
“I think so.” He goes quiet for several seconds before he sends a surge of water flying at her, laughing the entire time.  
  
Ciri splutters, “Hey!”  
  
Cahir doesn’t apologise — not that she expected him to — but just laughs to himself before he briefly dunks his head under the water. Ciri seizes the opportunity to return the favour and throws water in what she assumes is his general direction once she knows he’s come back up for air.  
  
Judging by the splutter and laugh she gets, her judgement was correct. 

It goes on for a while, the playfulness, the light teasing and the happiness. For a while, nothing else exists apart from them, the night sky and the water surrounding them. Ciri didn’t realise how much she needed it to feel somewhat normal again. When this is all over, she would have to thank him for making her forget, for making her laugh for more than just a few seconds. She owed him that, at the very least.  
  
“Okay, enough!” Cahir laughs in between his splutters and then groans, “I’ve got too much chlorine in my eyes.”  
  
Ciri grimaces, “Ouch.”  
  
“Don’t apologise or anything, it’s fine.” Cahir huffs but not in a way that sets warning sirens off in her head; his anger is calm, light and not at all worrying. In fact, she didn’t think he was angry at all.  
  
“Not in my vocabulary.” She grins even though he cannot see her.  
  
“You know, you remind me of someone.” Cahir begins, water lapping gently towards her; she thinks he’s doing laps in what is now his half of the pool. “Except, I think you’re not her level of feral. Just yet.”  
  
Curiosity piques in her, “Who is she?”  
  
Cahir pauses for a short time, “One of my sisters.”  
  
“One of?” Ciri raises a brow, kicking her feet below her in the water just to keep herself warm, “How many of them have you got?”  
  
She hears his sigh from the other side, “Um, Four. It’s complicated though.”  
  
“Oh.” Ciri doesn’t push the subject further. She can tell by the cadence of his voice he isn’t ready to talk about it with her. He would pay her the same respect, she thinks. “That explains why you are like what you are.”  
  
What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
“You know.” Ciri shrugs her shoulders, struggling to find eloquent enough words. Damn her running mouth. “Quiet, shy, respectful. Your sisters obviously bullied you into being that way.”  
  
“Right,” Cahir laughs, bringing a smile to her face; she had grown to like the sound and she wishes he did it just a little more often. “You’re not wrong. It definitely helped.”  
  
“I knew it.” She’s far too proud of herself for that judgement of character.  
  
“So,” His tone changes ever so slightly, “What did you and your mom talk about? She's coming to pick you up?”  
  
Ciri wipes her nose, the droplets falling from it beginning to annoy her, “No. Her and my dad, they’re kind of...Gods, I don’t know. They do this a lot.”  
  
“I see…” Cahir’s voice is quiet in the dark, “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Ciri huffs, “He’s just a colossal moron that can’t see something good even when it’s right in front of him.”  
  
“Sounds like most men.” Cahir’s voice is pensive, thick with thought and Ciri becomes more and more intrigued about his life by the passing seconds, “We’re all like it.”  
  
“I bet.” Ciri agrees; she had enough boyfriends to know what most of them were like. Jarre was obsessive, borderline creepy and Galahad, he worshipped her too much and it turned sour quickly. Then Mistle filled that hole in her life, for a time. “They have a holiday home in Toussaint, I guess they had their fall out there.”  
  
“That’s back in the other direction.”  
  
“I know.” Ciri nods her head, sighing, “They’re at their actual home in Gwenllech right now.”  
  
Cahir goes silent for a while, leaving her to worry before he speaks up.  
  
“Is that nearby to Kaedwen?” His voice doesn’t sound so sure, “Forgive me, I’m not entirely sure with all the Northern locations just yet.”  
  
“Yeah, er—” Ciri takes a moment to think to herself, “It’s about several hours at most from Kaedwen’s capital.”  
  
“I’m heading towards Ellander in Temeria.” Cahir states. Finally, Ciri thinks, she had been dying to know just where he was hurtling towards. Now it was just a matter of who.  
  
“Redania separates them both.”  
  
Cahir hums for a second and then, “I’ll take you home.”  
  
“What?” Ciri sits up from leaning on the pool’s edge, “For real?”

“Yeah,” He pauses to let out a shaky laugh, “For real.” 

“But,” The water splashes as she talks with her hands, “It’s hours, days even, from where you’re going.” 

“I-I, um,” Cahir sniffs the air and then coughs a little, “I’d like to make sure you get home safe. If that’s alright.” 

“It’s more than alright!” Ciri can’t hide the surprise and the joy in her voice. She’s not even sure she wants to hide it, “I’d hug you, if—“

“Save it for when we’re clothed.” He laughs, “I hope you don’t mind tagging along with me on my travels first, though.” 

“Not at all.” Ciri agrees, thinking to herself that it could be fun — she hadn’t been on a road trip since she was only a young girl, travelling from Cintra to Gwenllech. “Temeria has amazing scenery.” 

“So I’ve heard.” Cahir grows silent again and then, “I’m meeting a friend.”  
  
“Oh.” Ciri’s gears turn in her head and that lightbulb pings again. She clears her throat, “Good for you.”  
  
“Not like that.” Cahir chuckles a little, “Just a friend.”  
  
“I don’t believe you.” Ciri teases, “You seem like the sort.”  
  
“I’m slightly offended.” He says despite the tiny laugh he lets out, “You saw right through me, though.”  
  
“Is it still a thing?” She tests his patience and she knows it. She wouldn’t be Ciri if she didn’t step on at least a couple of toes each time she asked a question.  
  
“Why do you care?” He retorts and then sighs, “It was one time. Drunk and desperate and completely awkward.”  
  
“At least I have a good judge of your character, I suppose.”  
  
“Please,” Cahir scoffs, “That’s not who I am. We can’t judge others for things they did in their past or we’d surely combust. With each other as a company for the foreseeable future, I hope that applies here, as well.”  
  
His words leave her mulling a few things over; their mutual situation, her feelings towards that, him and her time with Mistle that was surely becoming a fading memory, albeit a painful one.  
  
“It does. Let’s say this,” Ciri darts her tongue across her lips that had suddenly grown dry, “I’ll judge you for what you do and who you are in front of me. No more, no less. Can I trust you to do the same?”  
  
“You can trust me, Ciri.” His voice is as clear as the dark sky and she trusts it completely. She would love to know why. Cahir waits a minute before speaking out again, “Should we head back to the van?”  
  
Ciri is glad for the conversation to end pleasantly, “Yeah.”  
  
“Ladies first.”  
  
“Is it just so you can stare at my ass? Because—”  
  
“No!” He laughs once more, “Even if I wanted to, it’s far too dark.”  
  
“Good.” Ciri chuckles as she swims to the side where she left her clothes and climbs out. Her ego is left ever so slightly bruised; she had never known anyone to not want to look at her. That was a fatal flaw of Yennefer’s, telling her she was pretty from a young age — it just created an uncontrollable, inflated ego.  
  
It takes her a couple of minutes to feel the towel Cahir had left on one of the loungers. She wraps it around herself tightly, making sure she is covered.  
  
“Are you getting out?” Her feet are dry enough to slip her shoes back on for now.  
  
“What? So you can stare at me?” Not going to happen, Ciri.”  
  
“I’ll go back to the van then. Dry off there?” She waits for his answer as if she’s waiting for the season to change; eagerly.  
  
“Sure.” He splashes in the water briefly, coming back up coughing, “In the second cupboard, at the top, on your left; there’s a bunch of old shirts that I don’t or won’t wear. Feel free to use one of those to sleep in. Your hair’s wet and you don’t wanna get the bedsheets _and_ your everyday clothes wet too. The van’s liable to get chillier now we’ve crossed the border.”  
  
“Alright, I’ll head off.” Ciri quickly bundles her dry clothes into her bag before throwing it on her shoulder whilst keeping a grip on her towel, “Thank you for the concern, grandpa.”  
  
She doesn’t wait for his reply and instead sneaks back out of the gate, hopefully as quiet as a mouse.  
  
His concern is quite touching and she appreciates every second of it. Apart from Yennefer, Geralt and their awkward, ragtag found families, there hadn’t been much of it. Life had not been particularly kind to her for a lot of years and it’s about time it changed. Maybe this was a considerable step towards that.  
  
Ciri opens the backdoor to the van as quietly as possible; there’s another van now parked next to them and if its owners are sleeping inside, she doesn’t want to wake them. She closes it as equally quiet and puts her bag on one of the counters before searching for the cupboard.  
  
“Second cupboard, at the top and on the left…” She mutters to remind herself, finding it easier than she expected.  
  
There’s nothing in there resembling a decent pile; it looks more like a rubbish bin meant for old clothes. Ciri chuckles a little, the piles upon more piles reminding of the state she left her Toussaint bedroom in.  
  
She grabs the first one she sees and takes off the towel, quickly drying herself off the best she can before slipping the shirt over her head. It smells a little musty but not too bad, his cigarette smoke and the faintest hint of cologne linger on it too. Quickly, she pulls the bed out and sets the pillows and duvet on the top, desperate to dive in.  
  
Ciri runs the towel across her hair as Cahir returns, giving a light knock on the side of the van as he does. She throws the towel on the counter next to her bag and as fast as she can manage, throws herself under the duvet.  
  
“I’m decent!” She calls out, trying to keep her voice steady. Gods, what was wrong with her? The van was a little cold. Maybe that was it.  
  
Cahir climbs into his driver’s seat, “Hey.”  
  
“Hey.” She says back, throat slightly dry but not from thirst. At least, not the type of thirst.  
  
“You find the shirts alright?”  
  
She nods just a little, “Yes, thank you.”  
  
“Good.” The light above his head goes off and plunges them both into darkness again. She hears the creak of his seat reclining. “I’m gonna leave the engine running for ten minutes. Get some warmth circulating here for us.”  
  
“Okay,” Ciri turns on her side and slips her hand underneath the pillows to get comfortable. “Goodnight, Cahir.”  
  
“Goodnight, Cirilla.” He replies gently as he shuffles around in the front before going quiet, the only noise is the hum of the engine and the click of the heating turning back on.  
  
Ciri tucks a strand of rebellious hair behind her ear, thinking of everything. Cahir clicks the engine off and his snores sound almost instantly. Warmth does that to people, she thinks, fills their bones and sends them elsewhere.  
  
She thinks she’s experiencing it herself but, there’s so much yet to pass; she can’t trust so easily, not after everything but Gods, she wants to.  
  
Cahir makes her feel something and she hates every second of it.  
  
But, it also makes her feel normal and wanted.  
  
She sighs quietly, burrowing her head impossibly more into the pillow and willing sleep to come, not just Cahir consuming her every waking thought.  
  
It’ll happen eventually, she tells herself.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some heavy topics towards the end of this chapter — everything is tagged already but just a little extra warning! 
> 
> This is also a chapter I had to cut down for size so apologies for the somewhat abrupt ending. It's the only way I could do it without messing it all about.

Today, she wakes peacefully and not chasing away shapes and faces of those that are haunting her just a little less than normal. As usual, the sunlight streams in through the sunroof and Cahir is firmly planted in the driver’s seat, eyes focusing on the road.    
  
She shuffles under the duvet, the pillow just a little damp still beneath her head.

Foolishly, she had dreamt about him last night, hence the reason there had been no nightmares. Ciri wasn’t sure if she liked the tricks her mind was playing on her; dreams of his lips against hers, his hands crawling gently up her legs, gripping tightly against her thigh. She needed slapping, she knew that. It’s not like she was sex-starved but she was missing the gentleness that came with it; Mistle wasn’t like that and she had done things Ciri did not want, too many times to count.    
  
Ciri runs her hands down her face and rubs her eyes a little too hard that she sees black dots for several seconds after.    
  
“Morning,” She grunts out in the middle of a stretch.    
  
Cahir turns his head quickly to offer a smile, “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”    
  
“Jeez,” Ciri snorts, “Thank you.”    
  
“I’m serious,” Cahir’s words come out warbled due to his continuous chuckling, “You were snoring away not even ten minutes ago.”    
  
“I don’t snore.” She protests knowing full well she did, just a little. Especially when dreaming. Geralt used to say he could hear her from four bedrooms over; even when little, she would stomp her foot and say little girls didn’t snore loud or in fact, at all. She was always a good liar.    
  
“Sure.” He waves his hand dismissively, “Whatever you say.”    
  
Ciri lies there in silence for several more minutes before she wills herself to get up. Her joints still hazy with sleep protest loudly; she was too young for creaking joints but she assumes that’s what sleeping on a pullout in the back of a van will do to you.    
  
“I’m just going to get dressed,” Ciri warns softly, hyper-aware of the fact there was no partition separating the front of the van from the back; just a small section which contained the handbrake and a small storage space that you could step over.    
  
“Okay, I’ll take the road as slow as I can. Just...go steady.” She can hear him swallow from her place in the backseat, “I won’t look either.”    
  
Ciri rolls her eyes, “Sure.”    
  
She drags her bag off the counter and onto the bed she’s still standing shakily on top of  — this wasn’t practical at all. Ciri considers for a second and then sits back down to open her bag, fishing her clothes out.    
  
“Hey,” She calls out as she discreetly slips on her barely-there pants and skirt, giving the fishnets a miss for today, “You reckon Metinna has a laundrette or something?”    
  
“Probably,” His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, “What fo— _ Oh. _ I’ll ask around town or we’ll get a tourist map or something.”    
  
“You and your fucking maps.” She laughs before she slips his shirt quickly over her head, rushing to clasp her bra together, “Have you always been into cartography?” She distracts him with a question as she pulls her vest on and then grabs the hoodie he left out for her the first night.    
  
“No, it’s boring.” She swears she catches his gaze in the rearview mirror but his eyes are back at the road before she can confirm, “I just use them when I’m travelling instead of having my phone attached to my hand.”    
  
“Gods,” She wrinkles her nose as she closes her bag before she clambers into the front passenger seat, “You do sound like a Grandpa when you say that.”    
  
Cahir just shakes his head in amusement, smiling from ear to ear. His eyes sparkle even more than usual when he smiles, she notes.    
  
Various stores and stalls flash past the window too quickly for Ciri to take notice of them; she understood that once Cahir had a location in mind nothing, not even the weather, would stop him getting there. At least if she got one thing out of this road trip, it was meeting someone who drove more recklessly than Geralt.    
  
Ciri opens the glove compartment to search for the sunglasses she doesn’t remember putting back. It takes her a minute or so but she finds them and quickly puts them on.    
  
“They suit you,” Cahir interjects her thoughts, “You can keep them if you want.”    
  
“Really?” Ciri raises a brow as she looks at him and narrows her eyes knowing he couldn’t see her, “What for?”    
  
“Like you said,” He shrugs carelessly, “They’re fake. I can buy another pair for five Florens.”    
  
“Very generous of you.” Ciri pulls the sun visor down and gives herself a quick admire in the dusty mirror; not bad, she thinks. “That reminds me—”    
  
“Oh?” Cahir’s grip on the gas pedal eases as they get further into the town’s bustling main street, “Of what?”    
  
Ciri leans across to press a kiss to his cheek; his skin is already burning hot as her lips connect, “Thank you.”    
  
He seems at a loss for words before he practically spits out, “For what?”    
  
“Agreeing to take me home.” Ciri leans back into her seat properly, watching people walk past on the street, silently wondering what their lives were like, “It was — it  _ is _ very kind of you.”    
  
“Ah, it’s nothing.” Cahir tries to change the subject without much joy.    
  
“It’s not nothing to me,” Ciri confirms, looking back at him. His eyes meet hers and her heart thuds like it’s trapped and aching to get free. It was stupid what a nice pair of blue eyes and a decent smile could get her feeling like.    
  
“Okay, Ciri.” He’s sincere in his words and Ciri never feels pressure from him to continue a conversation but sometimes, she can’t help herself. It was oddly nice to talk to him, he was easy to talk to and kind with it, too.    
  
“So, which shop are you going to?” She stretches her legs before going back to looking — or more aptly, feeling — around in the glove compartment, “You know, for the best rosé?”    
  
“There’s a top of the range store just down the street. Sells nothing but wine and spirits.” Cahir informs her; the way he was hunting a specific wine instead of just buying one from a corner shop made him seem like something of a snob. Ciri knew that was the furthest thing from being true but it amuses her nonetheless. “I just gotta find somewhere to park this big thing before we go.”    
  
“Alright,” Ciri answers, not particularly listening to his quietly spoken ranting about the lack of parking spaces, her mind far too occupied with what is hidden away in the compartment, “Hey, what’s this?”    
  
Cahir turns the car, presumably into a car space before he turns to see what she had proudly fished out.    
  
“Oh, that old thing.” He laughs lightly, turning the engine off. “One of my sisters left it here years ago. I forgot all about it.”    
  
“Does it still work?” Ciri waits for his shrug before pressing her eye to the viewfinder of the polaroid, “One way to find out.”    
  
“Hey, don’t—” Cahir’s protests come too late and he just has time to put his hand in front of his face before she snaps the shutter and the flash goes off.    
  
“Perfect.” She grins, taking the photo from the ejection slot, “It does work!”    
  
Cahir groans, rubbing at his eyes, “I’m glad you didn’t do that whilst I was on the road.”    
  
“Well, teach me to drive. Then I can take over?”    
  
He scoffs, “Not bloody likely.”    
  
“I have one just like this,” Ciri reaches over to grab her bag and places the camera into it, now claiming it as hers for the time being, “I’m glad I decided not to bring it with me, or else—   
  
“It’s alright,” He says gently, catching onto her shift of mood and quickly starting to change the subject, “Aren’t you supposed to shake the photos to develop them?”    
  
“No,” Ciri shakes her head not only to show Cahir his question was wrong but to also shake the memories from her head, “You have to store them somewhere dark.”    
  
“One of the cupboards on the top is empty.” He cracks his knuckles in a way that makes her squirm as she climbs into the back to find said cupboard. It’s easily found and Ciri slips the polaroid into it before closing the door and slipping back into her sneakers.    
  
“Ready?” Cahir asks, still sitting down as he pulls on his leather jacket; it suits him very well, she thinks.    
  
“Yeah, you?” Ciri waits for his nod of confirmation, “I’ll climb out the back then.”    
  
She doesn’t wait for another reply, instead, she grabs her bag and makes sure it’s zipped before heading out the back door.    
  
Cahir’s already waiting for her, twirling the van keys round and round his index finger, whistling some tune she had never heard before.    
  
“Trying to look cool now?” She teases, ignoring his eye roll and laughing instead. 

“Shut up.” He laughs, starting to walk towards the end of the street.

Ciri wonders what they look like to other people as she follows; a brother and sister? Not likely, they looked nothing alike. A couple, perhaps? That was the better of the options, either way. 

“Are you just getting rosé?” She asks, dodging some woman’s handbag and shooting her a dirty look afterwards. 

“Might get us a bottle of whisky to share tonight?” Cahir raises a brow and discreetly examines her face from the corner of his eye, “Maybe some takeout too? The pier further down town has a camping set up where we can stop the night. If you want, that is.” 

“Cahir, is this your half-assed way of asking me on a date?” She’s teasing but there’s a part of her that hopes he says yes.

“No, not at all!” He looks a little embarrassed and scratches the back of his head, the tops of his ears turning red, “I just thought we could hang out. Act somewhat normal for a night.” 

“It’d be nice.” Ciri nods and reassures him with a smile, “What kind of takeout are we talking about?”    
  
Cahir shrugs, “I like most. Which would you prefer?”    
  
“Hm,” Ciri thinks for a moment or two; Metinna looks like it only had one street in the whole place which could work against her cravings, “Something de —  _ No! _ Kebab with a salad.”    
  
“Right,” Cahir laughs as they approach the shop, “Don’t forget the salad.”    
  
Cahir pushes the door to the small shop open, the bell above the door giving a light ring as they shuffle inside.    
  
It smells like alcohol, Ciri notes firstly. She expects nothing less from a shop that only sells just that but Gods, it stunk just a bit too much for her liking. The shelves are all wooden, holding rows upon rows of wines on the right, spirits on the left.    
  
Cahir heads over to the right first whilst she goes left; spirits were more her thing, anyway.    
  
She’d never seen so much alcohol in one place, well, maybe Iskra’s apartment but she was trying not to think about those nights as much as possible.    
  
Vodka was probably her favourite spirit, largely because you could mix it with a variety of different liquids. Though most of the time, she didn’t mix and drank it straight from the bottle only to regret it the next morning. She’d stay away from that.    


Ciri shuffles further along the shelf, admiring the bottles of rum. It was nice, especially the spicier variety but also, not what she was looking for. Whisky is directly next to the rum and she sighs in victory. A quick peer over her shoulder shows Cahir at the counter,  rosé placed in front of him and chatting away to the young girl who barely looked old enough to be alone in a shop selling alcohol.    


Ciri scoffs and rolls her eyes, focusing back on the whisky seeing as it seems like Cahir was leaving her to choose, far too occupied with flirting. 

Back home, Geralt would deem only whisky straight from Skellige’s distilleries as the best but Ciri hadn’t ever drunk too much of it. She had drunk some rye from Nilfgaard and so she looks for a bottle of that, or something extremely similar.    
  
It takes her a minute or two to find but she does and feels proud of herself as she pulls the bottle from the shelf.    
  
“Sixty-seven percent?” She whispers to herself and whistles low, “Impressive.”    
  
“Hey, you found something?” Cahir calls her over and much to Ciri’s displeasure, the checkout girl was still fluttering her eyelashes at the side of his head.    
  
“I did.” She presents the bottle to Cahir who doesn’t even notice the other girl, too busy giving the bottle a once over and her, too.    
  
The checkout girl twirls her hair around her finger, “Is your sister old enough to buy that?” She asks as Cahir places the rye next to the rosé.    
  
“I’m not his sister,” Ciri interjects, taking the words from Cahir’s mouth. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, opens his mouth and then closes it again.    
  
“Oh,” The girl says, dropping her hair and scanning both the bottles, “My apologies.” Ciri thinks she would be pretty cute if not so obviously in love with a man she’s known for two seconds.    
  
“It’s alright,” Cahir clears his throat to break the tension before turning to Ciri, “She was actually telling me there’s a laundrette just ten doors down that way.”    
  
“Oh,” Ciri says, suddenly feeling a little bad for jumping to conclusions. But only a little. What else was she supposed to think? “Thank you.” She adds to the girl behind the counter who smiles and nods her head as she packs the wine bottle into a cardboard box.    
  
Ciri looks up at the roofing of the shop as the worker continues to chat to Cahir. She tells herself it is just friendly and why was she getting so worked up anyway?    
  
“So, are you staying in Metinna long?” She asks, loading the bottle of whisky into a brown paper bag for discretion.    
  
“No,” Cahir shakes his head, “Just passing through.”    
  
“This place doesn’t have much in it,” Their helper says, handing the bag and box to Cahir, “I don’t blame you for just driving through.”    
  
“That’s what everybody says.” Ciri mutters as Cahir shoots her a glance from his place at the counter, “You don’t miss it until you’re gone, you know?”    
  
“Right…” The girl looks between Ciri and Cahir, frowning; Ciri curses internally at herself, “Have a nice day the both of you.”    
  
“We will,” Cahir starts to head out and then looks over his shoulder, “Thank you.”    
  
Ciri says nothing as they head out and instead choosing to dwell on what an arse she just appeared to be. Right down to the sunglasses indoors.    
  
Cahir, in all his wisdom, decides to not bring it up.    
  
“So, laundrette?”   
  
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Ciri adjusts her bag on her shoulder, “I’ll follow you.”    
  
“Are you alright?” He asks as they begin to walk down the other end of the street, Ciri a little faster than he, “You seemed...far away back there.”    
  
“I’m fine.” She tells herself as well as him: she didn’t want to discuss what appeared to be misguided jealousy back there, least of all with him. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”    
  
“Oh.” He goes silent for a moment, “Me too. It’s comfy but Great Sun, that chair is wreaking havoc on my back. I’m too young to have achy joints.”    
  
She laughs as he begins to slow down, looking at signs, “I thought the same thing this morning. Now I feel bad because I got the bed.”    
  
“I told you to take it. There’s no need to feel bad.”    
  
“But,” She begins her protest despite knowing it would fail, “We could share. We’re both adults, aren’t we?”    
  
Cahir casts her a glance but doesn’t answer the question and instead opens the door to the laundrette that Ciri didn’t even realise they had reached. She was far too occupied with thoughts of bed-sharing.    
  
“Do you—?”    
  
“I have some leftover from the payphone, thank you.”    
  
“Alright,” He offers a smile that she gladly accepts, “I’ll go see about getting us that takeout. You gonna be okay?”    
  
“Sure. It’s a laundrette, what’s the worst that could happen?” Ciri snarks as she slips in the door, brushing against him a little.    
  
“Knowing you? A lot.”    
  
“Piss off.” She shoves him lightly out the door, making sure it was shut behind him. 

Ciri watches him retreat and head back in the direction the van was parked up, no doubt so he didn’t look odd walking around two with two bottles of alcohol. 

There’s no one else in the laundrette, not even a sign of a worker and Ciri sighs in relief. She approaches the first machine opposite the bench and squints to see the price details. Luckily, she just has enough for the small wash and dry. 

This was the tricky part. His hoodie that she slipped on went to her mid-thigh and there was definitely no one else in. Ciri sighs and slips off the sunglasses and hoodie, followed by her vest and bra. As quick as possible, she puts the hoodie back on before anyone who happened to be passing the window got an eyeful. She pulls off her pants and skirt before throwing them all in the washing machine and digging around in her bag for the coins. 

She slots them in one by one, presses the quick wash and dry option before she shuts the door and the machine instantly hums to life. Free wash powder is left out on the bench and so she takes a scoop full and loads it into the tray, soapy suds appearing within seconds. 

At least the chores Yennefer makes her do every now and then paid off in one way. 

Time passes slower when she sits staring at the timer going down so she settles for doing a variety of different things. The first one is pacing up and down either side of the bench. Secondly, biting her nails. Thirdly, she decides to place her bag underneath her head and lay out on the bench for the remaining six minutes, hoping it would make it go quicker.    
  
She can’t help but try and calculate just how much longer their journey to Gwenllech is going to be. Metinna was still part of Nilfgaard but also quite close to the Amell Mountains which lead directly into Sodden. Ciri surmises that it would maybe take a day and a half to get to Sodden, depending on how early and how long they drove for. Sodden to Temeria may take a little longer, depending on the route Cahir would take — maybe taking the roads through the cities would be quicker than driving on the plains and motorways? She gives that journey four to five days. Kaedwen wasn’t necessarily far away, she’d taken trips with Geralt from Temeria back to Kaedwen’s capital in a day and a half.    
  
Ciri counts the days on her fingers, calculating her estimates a second time just to make sure. She could be back home in just over a week.    
  
So why did she feel so nervous?    
  
No doubt because she felt herself growing closer to Cahir and knew deep down, she hadn’t made her peace properly with the previous Mistle situation. She had read about things like this in those stupid magazines she used to make Geralt buy her when she was a stupid teenager who didn’t realise how reckless and ruining love could be.    
  
Whirlwind romances, summer flings. Gods, she was so stupid. 

On the other hand, if that is what it was going to be, just a fling, then she had her get out clause all ready and perfected. Maybe  _ that  _ was what she needed, someone to make her forget, to make her happy even if it was just a fleeting moment. Even Ciri the Continent’s greatest denier knew there was something there — may be only a tiny kindling — but it was there.    
  
The beeping of the machine snaps her away from her pathetic daydreams.    
  
She doesn’t realise how much time has passed as she scrambles off the bench and gathers her now freshly clean and dried clothes from the machine. They’re a little creased and crumpled, but nothing she couldn’t work with. Just as quickly as she took them off, Ciri slips back on all her clothes and rolls Cahir’s hoodie up to place in her bag.    
  
The street is still as busy as it was before and she can see no clear sign of Cahir, much to what feels like her disappointment. Back at the van seems like her best bet at the moment and so she heads there to find it empty.    
  
Luckily, he had left the doors open.    
  
Not lucky if someone had decided to rob them, however.    
  
Ciri sinks down in her designated passenger seat and puts her legs up on the dashboard, bag open on her knees. She has to root about for a short while before she finds her breath mints and pops one in her mouth, chewing hastily for no particular reason.    
  
It’s at least another fifteen minutes before Cahir emerges from Gods-know-where and opens the van door, smell wafting in after him.    
  
“Hey,” Ciri greets, her stomach giving a loud, involuntary rumble. “You were a while.”    
  
“Well, they have to cook it.” He chuckles, leaning between the chairs to put the food in what looked like a thermal cupboard of some sort because of course. What did he not have stashed away in his van?    
  
Ciri isn’t going to complain, however. She has a particularly good view of his  ass as he leans over. 

Yennefer would be proud of her.   


Cahir turns suddenly and Ciri adjusts her eyesight to make it out as if she was gazing in the rearview which only makes her look worse and far too guilty for her liking.    
  
“So, Metinna Pier sound good?” He asks, plonking his ass back into his seat and starting the engine.    
  
“You’re driving.” Ciri notices him staring at her legs up on the dashboard and smiles at him, in all her defiant manner.    
  
He rolls his eyes and reverses with extra care out of their parking space.    
  
Ciri sits in silence until he’s safely back hurtling down the roads and plains. She lets her legs drop from the dashboard and stretches them out in front of her.    
  
“You, uh,” Cahir begins, cheeks tinting pink slightly, “Smell nice.”    
  
“It’s the washing powder.” She laughs, rolling down the window to let the light breeze blow through her hair. She does smell nice, she has to agree as she takes a discreet sniff of her vest’s fabric and gets nothing but lavender and rosemaries in return. “So, who was the rosé for? Yourself?” 

Cahir sighs gently, “No, I’m not always a wine person. It’s for my—“

“Hey,” Ciri leans towards him, “You don’t need to bring it up if you don’t want to.” She understands now that he wouldn’t pressure her into saying anything; the same courtesy had to be extended to him.    


“It’s for my foster father,” Cahir wets his lips, “For lack of a better term.”    
  
“Oh, I see.” Ciri nods slowly, processing the information as best she could. “Is that why you have such a big family?”    
  
“It’s,” He shakes his head, “Complicated, you know?”   
  
“I get that.” Ciri nods once more, “Mine is too.”    
  
Cahir slows the van down, pulling into the marina’s parking spot.    
  
The pier isn’t as big as Ciri had expected it to be but it’s packed full of various boats, yachts and various other seaworthy vessels. Cahir reverse parks into his spot and from the back windows, Ciri can see the stillness of the water and the setting sun reflecting on it. 

It looks like something she would see on a television show or cheesy romance movie. Normally, she would frown, scoff and deny it but, in the middle of travelling across most of the Continent, with a man she had only known a few days and who she is at  _ minimum _ thinking about making out with? Well, she couldn’t scoff at that. It truly was something from a cheesy movie; she hopes during the grand finale of this one, they don’t both die at the end.    


“It’s gorgeous here.” She finds herself saying as Cahir reaches to get their takeout from the cupboard.    
  
“I know.” Cahir smiles as he opens the van door, stepping out into the fresh air. Ciri does the same, sea salt hitting her sense straight away, “Last time I travelled down to Sodden, I stayed here for, oh, maybe three nights?”    
  
Ciri follows Cahir down to the small wooden pier that lies in front of them and goes around to where the boats are anchored.    
  
“By yourself?”    
  
“Yeah,” He nods as he sits on the wood, feet dangling close to the water as he sets the bag and whisky on his left. Ciri follows his lead and sits with the bag to her right in the same position. “It’s peaceful.”    
  
“I can see that.” She looks around as if to amplify her point; the only other van is parked at least half a mile away at the other end of the lot. There’s a fishing rod on the pier but no sign of its owner.    
  
Cahir grabs the cork of the whisky bottle at the top, as it’s supposed to be done and twists the bottom of the bottle. The muscles beneath his skin move almost hypnotically as he grips and twists and yanks, gas slowly hissing from the bottle before it pops — loudly — and drags her from her daydreams.   
  
“Some more pollution in the Continent’s oceans,” Ciri drawls as she watches the cork fly into the water below their feet.    
  
“My catching reflexes aren’t brilliant.” He admits before taking a swig from the whisky bottle.   
  
“I’ll forgive you.” Ciri chuckles, wiping the palms of her hands on her knees as if they were sweaty, “So, what did you get us?”    
  
“For you,” Cahir begins, digging in the bag of takeout food, “The greasiest kebab I could find.”    
  
“Smells delicious.” Ciri takes the kebab that is wrapped in some form of greaseproof paper that clearly isn’t doing its intended job, “Thank you. What did you get?”    


“Same as you,” He confirms by taking his portion out of the bag and sort of waving it in the air, “Couldn’t say no once I got in there and took a whiff. Though, I opted against the salad.”   
  
“Wise choice on both counts.” She chuckles to herself before she takes a bite of her kebab; it’s perfectly greasy, with the right amount of salad and mayonnaise to balance it out. Once she’s finished chewing, she washes it down with a swill of whisky.    
  
Cahir laughs, “‘Atta girl.”    
  
She has to put the back of her hand against her mouth to stop her from spitting the whisky onto the deck, “Should you be encouraging me to chug down?”    
  
He shrugs, taking a bite of his kebab, “Why not?” He takes the whisky bottle from her hand and swigs a hearty mouthful down.    
  
Ciri senses opportunity, “‘Atta boy.”    
  
“Shove off.” Cahir practically giggles, placing the bottle in the space between them. Ciri desperately wants to take it, gulp it down and numb some of the still lingering memories of when she used to do nice things like this with Mistle but swallows that thought as if it's the next bite of her kebab.    
  
“So, are you going to finish telling me about your family?”    
  
“I will.” Cahir nods, “What do you want to know?”    
  
“You mentioned your foster father?” Ciri probes gently, understanding that when discussing family members, it’s always best to be sensitive, “You didn’t strike me as that kind of person.”    
  
“What kind would that be?” Cahir replies after finishing another mouthful of whisky.   
  
Ciri sighs as she finishes off her meal and reaches for the bottle, “You know, you just don’t seem too fucked up.”    
  
“You’re familiar with it, then?”    
  
“Sure.” Ciri nods, passing him back the bottle, “But we’re discussing you, not me.”    
  
“Nicely evaded.” Cahir takes a long swig and then stops abruptly as if he realises he has to drive tomorrow, “I bumped into my foster father, I don’t know, about ten or twelve years ago? Running away from home.”    
  
“You still are, right? Running?”    
  
Cahir looks at her for a long moment, gears turning quietly in his head as if he’s not only assessing their situation but her too.    
  
“Isn’t that what we’re both doing? Running away from something?”    
  
“I guess so.” He agrees, not saying much before he speaks again, several minutes later, “I ran away because my Dad — the real one — enlisted me to serve in the Nilfgaardian army. I naturally didn’t want that.”    
  
“Shit,” Is all Ciri can manage.    
  
“I was to take my brother’s place and serve until I’m thirty.” Cahir looks down at the water lapping against the wooden beams of the pier, “He, um, died during service. “   
  
“I’m sorry.” Ciri takes the bottle from him again; it was already half empty, “How long ago was that?”    
  
“Just a few weeks before I met Regis. That’s my foster father but, well, I don’t call him that to his face.” Cahir sighs as if he regrets that, “I was just sixteen and I was tired of hearing my Mom cry every night, neglecting me and my siblings. I understood that she was grieving, of course, but...I don’t know. My dad told me over dinner I had to take Aillil’s place and I was so angry and bitter at the world, I jumped out of my bedroom window later that night and just ran.”    
  
Ciri stays quiet, understanding that she shouldn’t interrupt or share her opinions just yet. He looked younger than he normally did and the weight of the world was clearly on his shoulders. She felt ashamed that she didn’t notice that before now. Here she was, thinking she was the only person in the world with tragedy dogging her footsteps.   
  
“Regis found me, crying at the side of the road, miles away from home. Guess I didn’t have much of a lesson on stranger danger either.” Cahir gives her a look that makes her laugh.    
  
“Hey,” She holds her hands up in defence, “I’m supposed to be young and stupid. You should know better.”    
  
“I was about a half-mile away from Ebbing.” He takes a large swig of whisky, “He took me to his apartment, called my Mom and had some stern words with me. Made me see sense.”    
  
“Are you glad he did?”    


“Somewhat.” Cahir shrugs, “I’m still not happy to be in the army. I’m happy to have him in my life, though. I spend most of my time with him and his adopted daughter, Angoulĕme in Dilligen. She’s the sister you remind me of.”    
  
“So, you say they’re your foster family to make it easier for everyone?” Ciri raises one of her brows, now wrapping her head around his backstory, “That makes sense.”    
  
“Yeah, that’s it.” Cahir nods, passing the bottle back to her so she may have the last few gulps, “Saying found family gets you a few funny looks and well, I’m not going to hand out a pamphlet with my tragic backstory on it to just anyone.”    
  
“I’ll consider myself lucky.” She smirks cheekily which makes him laugh. Finally. “And, you’re still in the army right? Still running from it, judging by the campervan.”    
  
“Yeah,” Cahir clears his throat and shows her his hand, “You’ve not noticed but I got injured a few weeks ago. Our target stabbed right through my hand, I can’t move my three fingers.” He proves his point by just moving his thumb and little finger on his left hand.    
  
“Gods,” Ciri wrinkles her nose as she takes a closer look at his scar; it goes right across his palm in a still nasty looking, red, jagged mark. “I bet that hurt.”    
  
“Yeah, it did.” Cahir retracts his hand and places it back at his side, “I got five weeks of military leave. I’ve got two weeks of it left. I thought I’d come to see my friend out here before I go back.”    
  
Ciri frowns ever so slightly, “You make it sound like you’re not going to be coming back.”    
  
“I have a bad feeling about it. You know, the kind you get deep in your gut?” Cahir shrugs his shoulders, “I have dreams sometimes, too and I dreamt I wasn’t going to see past my thirtieth. I thought I’d drive to Sodden to see my friend and then finish it just so I didn’t have to go back and die by getting shot or tortured.”   
  
“Fucking hell…” Ciri mutters, “And this road trip is what then? Your swan song?”    
  
“Something like that.” He nods slowly, still looking towards this horizon as if it was his last sunset, “I made my peace with it out in the Korath after visiting my parents — the real ones — back in Vicovaro. And then, I saw you, walking at the side of the road and now I’m not so sure.”    
  
“Gods, don’t be saying I’m your guardian angel or some shit.” Ciri rolls her eyes, taking a hearty swig of the last of the whisky, “I’ve been revered by a guy before and I won’t do it again.”    
  
“No, certainly not.” Cahir laughs, shaking his head firmly, “I’m saying, I think you changed my mind. I thought, if I do something good before I go then maybe, everything will have been worth it at the end.”   
  
“Maybe so.” Ciri nods, his words having a profound effect on her; they made feel lucky to have breath in her lungs, lucky to be here alive and well and she was beginning to understand that no matter your shitty hand, life could still be worth something, “You won’t know ‘till you reach those pearly gates.”    
  
“Right.” He snorts, clearly amused by her verdict on his situation, “And what about you? Your tragic backstory?”    


Ciri rolls her eyes, “Gods, where do I begin?”    
  
“At the start would be nice.”    
  
“Asshole.” She shoves his shoulder but not hard enough to make him go tumbling into the water below, “My parents, they died when I was young. Like, really young. I had grandparents and then they died too.”    
  
“Great Sun, I’m so sorry.” There’s a genuine tone to his voice she’s not familiar with — not from friends and certainly never from a stranger. Could he be defined as a stranger now? Was it a friend instead? 

“It’s fine,” She shakes her head, “It was a long time ago. They’re barely a fading memory now.”    
  
“Sometimes old wounds flare up.” He adds, no doubt methodically. Cahir does that, tries to make herself feel better, tries to make her  _ like  _ and understand herself and she hates how well it works.    
  
“Anyway, I was adopted by a single guy which was unusual in itself but apparently he knew my Grandmother or whatever. He met my step mum and we were happy. I went through school, college, started university and it all went tits up.”    
  
“How so?” Cahir turns his body ever so slightly so he can look at her as she talks. Ciri feels pressure under his gaze to be completely honest with him.    
  
“I dropped out for a start.”    
  
“What were you studying?”    
  
“History and politics at my mum’s behest.” Ciri drawls, rolling her eyes to herself as she speaks.    
  
“Yikes,” Cahir inhales sharply, “I’d have dropped out, too.”    
  
“Hey!” Ciri laughs and shakes her head, “We’re not discussing my bad academic choices.”    


“Right,” He laughs as he nods, “Continue then.”    
  
“I met some people right at the same time I dropped out. Not a coincidence, by the way.” Ciri sighs as she tucks some hair behind her hair, the sea breeze picking up slightly, “A group of people — six, to be exact — they were pretty awful. Drugs of all kinds, alcohol, stealing. You name it they did it.”   
  
Cahir remains tactfully silent.    
  
“I got involved with one of the...girls in the group.” Ciri takes a deep breath, “Mistle. That’s who I’m running from.” 

“Can I ask why?” Cahir swallows thickly after he talks and Ciri can’t bring herself to look at him. Not now, not yet.    
  
“We were running wild in every village, town, city, you name it. I was taking fisstech like there was no tomorrow and then just on the border of the Korath, I found out she’d been drugging me. And I don’t mean from the peer pressure of snorting it up my nose.” Ciri scoffs bitterly, “She’d been spiking my drinks regularly and then taking advantage of me when I was half out of it.”   
  
“You mean, um—” Cahir pauses and Ciri knows he’s trying to think of a way to describe it without using the exact words.   
  
“I wasn’t consenting, Cahir. That’s what I mean.”    
  
The sun’s almost set now, clouds appearing in the sky as it darkens. Ciri feels a chill down her back but she doubts it’s because of the breeze.    
  
“You should have rung the police…”    
  
“And what would they have done?” Ciri snaps and then regrets it, softening her tone, “For someone who stole, dealt and took fisstech? Arrested me instead of helping me, no doubt.”    
  
He keeps silent for a moment, “And so you ran.”    
  
“Grabbed everything I could reach within five seconds, opened the car door before she could even properly slow down and just ran and ran until I could taste something metallic in the back of my throat. You came down the road not long after that.” Ciri shakes her head and sighs, “I was stupid.”    
  
“You were scared.” Cahir points out, “There’s a difference.”    
  
“I should have grabbed my phone, called my mum.” A sensation against her shoulder makes her flinch and as she looks down, she realises it’s Cahir’s hand; warm and comforting. She isn’t used to someone who isn’t Yennefer or Geralt reaching out.    
  
“Nobody thinks straight when they’re terrified,” Cahir adds, still touching her shoulder.   
  
Ciri sighs, either in sadness for reminiscing or loneliness finally winning her over before she shuffles closer and rests her head onto his shoulders. He emits nothing but warmth and the fabric of his shirt brushes against her cheek gently. Cahir’s arm loops around her shoulders and somehow brings her even more closer.    
  
“It’s true, then.” She chuckles somewhat bitterly, “Everyone is running from something.”    
  
“And for good reason.” Cahir’s chest vibrates with a small bout of laughter, “Especially in your case.”   
  
“You didn’t do too bad.”    
  
“Thank you.”    
  
They both laugh and Ciri feels stupidly fuzzy. She should have seen it coming, she can never help herself as many people over the years have said to her. 

Recklessly, she leans towards him, her lips parting. The faintest smell of whisky overwhelms her before she feels the light graze of his lips against hers, hesitantly. 

“We shouldn’t.” He mutters, pulling away just a fraction, their noses brushing gently. His is so unusually cold, it almost makes her own turn numb instantly. 

“Why not?” She throws out the question, seeking out his lips again because she can’t describe what they felt like and she aches to know. 

“We’ve had a lot to drink.” Ciri would have rolled her eyes if they weren’t closed. She opens them to look at him, to find him looking down at her, his eyes brimming with something special and only for her. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.” 

“You’re no Mistle,” She tries to press closer, his breath warm on her face but he holds his defence, “I want to.” 

Cahir tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before he cups her face, as gently as you would carry fine China; as if she would break. She isn’t sure which one of them presses their foreheads together and she doesn’t really care.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to.” She can tell by the way he’s speaking, he’s holding back from her, “I do.” 

“Then why?” She places her hands atop his, acting like it would change his mind, “I want to.” She repeats. 

“Great Sun…” He murmurs, his resolve crumbling more and more by the second, “All I’m saying is, it’s something we should approach with clear heads.”

“I hate that you’re so reasonable.” She murmurs, making him laugh. 

“I’m sorry, Ciri. I’m going to be even more reasonable in a second.” She groans to tease him as she releases his hands, “We should head to bed, to see if we can prevent an awful hangover in the morning. That whisky was strong.” 

“Ugh. You’re right.” Cahir laughs as he stands and then offers his hands to heave her up. Ciri gladly accepts, holding them tight as he pulls her to her feet, “Thank you for tonight. It was...nice to have someone who listened.” 

“It’s really alright.” He nods sincerely, “And you, are you alright?” 

Ciri shrugs her shoulders, “I think I’m starting to be.”

“Good.” He agrees, collecting their rubbish and quickly disposing of it in one of the public bins.

Ciri starts to head back to the van and climbs into the back as he does the front. She gets the hoodie out of her bag and slips it on before opting to take off her skirt for her night.

Cahir prepares himself in silence with no awkwardness. She’s thankful for it. 

The bed welcomes her like a second home as she mentally reminds herself she must get into the habit of making it in a morning.

“Goodnight, Ciri,” Cahir calls out as he reclines his chair back.

“Don’t think I’ll forget about what you said about clear heads.” She murmurs, getting into a more comfortable position.

He laughs cutely, “I won’t. Sweet dreams.”

Ciri finds herself laughing too.

“Sweet dreams, Cahir.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Smut warning for this chapter (and briefly in the next!)

Unfortunately, Cahir was right about the monstrous hangover.    
  
Ciri doesn’t wake until the sun’s beaming down on her through the sunroof; an all too regular occurrence.    
  
Naturally, Cahir is at the wheel though only one hand is upon it, the other arm resting against the window and his hand holding up his head.    
  
No doubt he would be awfully smug, too. 

She sits up and feels worse for it; head spinning, thumping and possibly throbbing.    
  
“I need—” Ciri attempts to get onto her knees to pull herself up via one of the cupboards but feels worse, the room spinning even faster, “Ugh, I don’t know if I need to pee or vomit.”   
  
“Shit,” Cahir says, quickly looking over at her, “Hang on, I’ll pull over.”    
  
It only takes him a few seconds to pull the van over and Ciri finally stands, using the various cupboards to clamber her way over the messy bed sheets, pillows and make her way out of the back door.    
  
She barely takes note of the field of lavender in front of them before she’s on her knees and heaving into the nearest ditch.    
  
Cahir comes out just a couple of moments later and kneels beside her as she coughs something she doesn’t particularly want to look at up.    
  
Gently, Cahir scoops her hair out of the way of her mouth and holds it behind her, preventing it from dropping into her vomit.    
  
“Than—” She begins and stops before she can finish, more of last night’s dinner and drink projecting into the lavender. Gods, she would hate to be the farmer who came out to examine his fields tomorrow morning.    
  
As she heaves, Cahir’s hand rubs up and down her back, taking her by surprise. His softness always did just that — surprise her. His hands, she had noticed, look like they could easily grasp someone’s throat with little effort, break someone’s nose with one weak punch and yet, there was nothing of that sort in her experience with him.    
  
It takes her a short while to recover from her heaving and catching her breath before she can speak again.    
  
“Thank you,” She says just as he hands her a wipe to get whatever traces of vomit are left there, “I think I’m alright now.”    
  
“Okay, if you’re sure…” He doesn’t sound particularly convinced.    
  
“I think I need to pee,” Ciri informs him because, well, she might as well. Whatever remaining dignity she had just went into the field along with last night’s dinner.   
  
“Alright,” He chuckles a little, “I’ll get you some water, some meds for your head and something to eat.”   
  
“Thank you,” Ciri repeats, “Again.”    
  
Cahir taps her back gently before he leaves, heading back into the van. Ciri sighs as she brings herself up off her knees and heads further into the field where she can successfully hide behind the rows of lavender.    
  
Gods, if Yennefer could see her now, squatting in a field to relieve herself instead of an actual bathroom. Embarrassing. Her dignity really was long gone. Geralt probably wouldn’t find it funny either. Uncle Lambert, on the other hand...Hilarious. 

Ciri waits several minutes before heading back to the van; the back doors are left open for her and she climbs in to find Cahir has packed the bed away and is standing buttering bread.    
  
“Hey,” She says softly, alerting him to her presence. He looks like he's made to stand in a kitchen, no doubt talented hands cutting and chopping, tea towel thrown over his shoulders and hair all dishevelled from an uncomfortable night’s sleep. It’s hard to not appreciate a view like that, whether he just saw her heaving her guts up or not.    
  
“Hey,” He replies, pushing a water bottle towards her and a packet of aspirin towards her. To her, it speaks volumes about how he has left them in the packet and allowing her to take them out herself, especially in regards to what she told him about Mistle. Her heart gives a foolish tug. “I just had to use what I had left in the mini-fridge. I hope that’s alright.”    
  
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Ciri pops two of the pills out of their packet and swallows them dry before making sure they’re gone with a mouthful of water, “Thank you.”    
  
“Not a problem.” A quick smirk crosses his face, “So long as you don’t puke in the van.”   


“Hey,” She elbows him as best she could, still feeling shaky as he slides the sandwich towards her on a napkin, “You’re not funny.”    
  
“I do try my best,” He mutters as he clears the crumbs away into the palm of his hand and puts them in a small bag they had been using as a litter bin.    
  
Ciri takes the opportunity to climb into the passenger seat, finding a blanket Cahir had placed there. Once she sits, she places it on her legs and enjoys the comfort he constantly gives her.    
  
Cahir’s constant presence and care is not something she takes for granted. She appreciates every second, hour and minute of what he’s done for her and is doing for her. Ciri wishes that he knows how she feels — she’s never been very good at voicing the care she feels or wants. If he knew her as well as she thinks he does then he knows.    
  
“You mind if I start driving again?” Cahir asks as he slides into his seat and runs a hand through his hair; there’s also a light stubble starting to appear on his cheeks and Ciri gazes at it, thinking of how well it suits him. It makes him look older, is her final verdict, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. She’s sure her thing for older guys was also inherited from Yennefer or her birth mother. If almost seven years could be qualified as that much older — in her head, it did.   
  
“Not at all.” Her mouth is half full of chicken sandwich and the lack of manners makes Cahir laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners, “Are you still going to teach me?”   
  
“Great Sun, you were serious about that?” He turns the ignition and her eyes fall to the muscles beneath his skin again.    
  
“Deadly.”    
  
“Later,” Cahir pulls off the side of the road, “You’re still hungover. Best to sleep it off.”    
  
“And is that Grandpa advice?” She asks and flutters her eyelashes in his direction after finishing off her sandwich.    
  
“Certainly.” He snorts, all his concentration on the plains in front of them.    
  
“Where are we heading?” She asks, bringing the blanket up to her chin and burrowing down with her water bottle in the side of the door.    
  
“Well, I woke up and recovered later than I wanted so we won’t get into the Amell Mountains whilst it’s still daylight and I don’t think driving through the mountains the entire night would be wise.” Cahir explains whilst Ciri takes in his face; excitement is apparent judging by the way his cheek flush as he babbles — this trip meant a lot to him, “There’s a little camping area filled with lakes called Mil Trachta?”    
  
“I think I’ve heard of it.” Ciri nods her head slowly.    
  
She didn’t have a clue.    
  
“Well, we can stay there the night.” Cahir continues and Ciri starts to feel sleep pulling her in the opposite direction, “It has a mini-mart and whatever.”   
  
“Sounds good,” Ciri involuntary yawns and burrows somehow even further down into the seat, head resting against the window, the soft thrum of the road beneath them lulling her to sleep.    
  
Cahir mutters something that sounds like a sleep well wish but she’s not sure, already lost to the void that comes with sleep.    
  


* * *

  
Ciri drifts in and out for most of the day; waking up for several minutes and listening to the radio or Cahir’s badly out of tune humming before she’s drifting off again.

When she properly wakes, the sun’s not far from setting and on the van’s dashboard, something is flashing and beeping every several minutes. 

“What’s that?” She asks groggily, stretching her arms out. Her muscles crack but at least her head has stopped spinning as she grabs her water bottle and takes a long swig. 

“Low on fuel.” He noticed the worry etched into the lines between her eyebrows, “We’ve got more than enough to get to the camping spot. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Ciri grabs her bag from the footwell and takes the small packet of breath mints she has in there, opening it up. “I trust you.”

Cahir spares a moment to glance at her, offering the sweetest of smiles, as if her words meant the world. For her, they did. Trust was not something she gave so easily anymore. 

“So, there’s only a small stretch of road left.” Cahir speaks slowly, testing waters, “Want me to try and teach you a thing or two?”

Ciri rumples up the blanket and casts it away into the backseat, “Yeah, I do.” 

“Alright,” Cahir laughs, pulling to the side of the road and letting the minivan run whilst he talks. “Pedals are first.”    
  
Ciri takes a quick gander at the gearstick, “Ugh, of course, you drive manual.”    
  
“And what’s wrong with that?” He hits back, making sure the handbrake is on, “If you pass in a manual, you can drive any car, even automatics. You pass in an automatic, you can’t drive anything else.”    
  
“I didn’t know that.” Ciri shrugs, “And there was me considering learning in an automatic because it was easier.”    
  
“They’re both easy,” Cahir rolls his eyes but not in annoyance, “Ready?”    
  
“Hit me with it, then.” She gets into a comfortable position to face him and concentrate, which was more difficult the longer she looked at his face and that stubble.    
  
“Three pedals, left to right: clutch, brake and accelerator.” Cahir begins, pointing to each respective pedal. He shifts his feet as far away from the pedals as possible so she can get a clear view, “Obviously you press the brake to slow down or stop—”   
  
“Obviously,” She replies, words dripping with sarcasm.    
  
“Accelerator is the opposite,” Cahir pretends to ignore her but judging by the small giggle at the start of his sentence, it didn’t work so well, “Press that to speed up.”    
  
“And the clutch?” Ciri rests her chin in her hand, trying her hardest to soak the information in.

“It’s essentially metal plates that connect the engine to the wheels.” Cahir catches her frown, “Try not to worry about it. You just press it when you want to start driving and then again when you stop.”    
  
“Alright, I think I got that.” Ciri nods largely to herself, still running over the information he just bombarded her with, “Gears?”    
  
“Really simple.” He gestures to the gearstick, “Use first when you first start to drive after you put the engine on. Second for ordinary roads or when it’s snowy or slippery or mountains roads. Third for small curves or downhill but largely just for driving about in town. Following me so far?”   
  
“First for start, second for normal, third for town drives.” Ciri waits for the confirming nod from him, “I got it.”    
  
“Good,” Cahir quickly wets his lips, “Four is for highways, so when you’re going faster than normal. Like this kind of road we’re on now. Five, you shouldn’t have to use so don’t worry about it until you take actual lessons. Reverse speaks for itself and neutral is for like when you’re stuck in a traffic jam and whatever.”    
  
“Easy enough.” Ciri can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes from her throat. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all.    
  
“Want to give it a go, then?” Cahir raises a brow at her, looking ever-so-cheeky and cocksure, “Camping spot is just down the road.”    
  
Ciri senses an opportunity and tries her hardest to stop anything from flickering onto her face, “Sure, why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”   
  
“Exactly,” Cahir smiles like a proud parent at a graduation ceremony, her stomach fluttering something fierce.    
  
Without another moment’s delay, Ciri takes that opportunity she sensed and climbs into Cahir’s lap. He tenses at first, even more so when the hoodie she’s wearing rides up and flashes just a little too much skin but he relaxes once she pulls it back down to near her knee. But only a little.    
  
“Is this alright?” She asks like she’s given him any kind of choice; she notices the flush from his cheeks growing down his neck as he nods.   
  
“Fine.” His voice is just a little strained and she’s loving every second of it as she leans slightly forward to turn the key in the ignition, “You really do have a rebellious streak, don’t you?”    
  
“I wouldn’t be me without it.” The engine hums to life instantly and she first notices how oddly different it feels sitting in the driver’s seat; Ciri tries her hardest to remember the steps Cahir told her, “Okay...Clutch first.”    
  
Cahir gives her knee a light squeeze of encouragement and it sends a tingling bolt straight to the pit of her stomach; she tries not to make it obvious that it did but she jumps a little and mentally curses herself.   
  
“Sorry,” He adds, breath hot on her shoulder.    
  
“It’s alright.” Ciri wants to say more, to say that even his small puffs of breath are making her hot and bothered but she keeps her mouth firmly shut. It would be the wrong thing to say when she’s sitting in his lap, she thinks. “I trust you, remember?”    
  
He sends her a soft smile, perhaps his softest yet and gives her leg a reassuring tap.    
  
Ciri, perhaps unusually timidly for her, depresses the clutch and then grabs the gearstick. Cahir places his hand over hers and she can’t help but glance at his face out of the corner of her eye — he’s closer than she initially thought and is concentrating if the two frown lines were anything to go by.    
  
His breath near her shoulder causes goosebumps and there’s a loosely hanging stray piece of hair that keeps wafting, brushing against her and sending a shiver down her spine.    
  
Cahir’s hand gently guides her to put the gear into first and she presses her foot against the accelerator almost as gently as his hand rests on hers. The car jerks gently and Ciri panics, foot sliding to the brakes.   
  
“You’re alright.” Cahir squeezes her hand, “Just don’t lift your foot off the clutch until it vibrates.”    
  
“Okay…” Ciri has suddenly lost her confidence, largely due to the fact she was too busy thinking about hypothetical situations where she crashed his van into a nearby tree.    
  
The clutch vibrates something fierce beneath her foot and she releases whilst Cahir lets go of her hand to release the handbrake before he returns it as gentle as the first touch.    
  
“I’m doing it!” She can’t help but exclaim as she pushes down the accelerator and the van lurches forward before chugging down the road. The speed is considerably slower than the one Cahir drives at but they’re moving which is more than she thought was going to happen.    
  
“You are.” Cahir laughs but she doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s beaming from ear to ear — his smile was like that, felt even when you’re not looking directly at him, it poured into his every action and word. “You’re doing great, Ciri.”    
  
“I could be a professional driver, you know?”    
  
Cahir snorts, “I wouldn’t go that far.”    
  
“Hey,” Ciri begins her defence, laughter rippling her every word, “I’ll have you—”   
  
“Watch the road!” He warns despite chuckling nearby to her ear.    
  
Ciri momentarily panics once she realises how close to the grass verge she is but straightens it up just in time to see the turn off for the camping park Cahir had talked about.    
  
“Oh, there’s a turn in.”    
  
“It’s okay, keep your foot exactly where it is.” He leans forward slightly and she feels every movement he makes beneath her. Cahir rests his chin on her shoulder so he can look out of the windscreen properly and puts his spare hand atop her own on the wheel. “Now, put the gear stick into third.”    
  
Ciri does as he asks, quickly moving her hand out from under his and adjusting the stick; once she’s done, he lifts his hand to make room for hers again. He slowly uses her hands to turn the van to the left and drive them into the camping area. Cahir directs her towards a petrol pump first and she puts her foot on the brake, pumping it slowly as they stop. Once they’ve slowed considerably more, she presses the clutch, then moves the gear stick into neutral and even remembers to put the handbrake on.    
  
Cahir breathes a sigh of relief she’s sure she wasn’t supposed to notice.    
  
“Well done.” He takes his hands off hers to rest them on her shoulders, giving a little squeeze, “Not bad for the first time.”    
  
“Hey,” She nudges him with a gentle laugh before the view out of the window catches her attention, “Look at the mountains. They’re beautiful from down here.”    
  
There aren’t many lights in the camping park but there are enough to illuminate the beauty of the mountain pass; there is snow on the peaks but only a smattering and several dotted lights going around and up them for any travellers brave enough to drive among them during the night. 

Ciri hadn’t appreciated the beauty in nature before this trip. Yet another reason to be grateful for it.    
  
“Very beautiful,” Cahir repeats her sentiment as he shifts away from her shoulder to take a proper look himself. She takes the opportunity to drape an arm around his shoulders, her fingers playing with the curls that stick ever so slightly to the nape of his neck.   
  
Their eyes connect for the briefest of moments before Cahir leans in unexpectedly — but not the bad kind — and presses his lips to hers. 

Ciri wraps her arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair in an instant. The position isn’t ideal but they make it work, Cahir’s hand resting against her hip as she pushes herself closer and closer. She tries her best to straddle him but her leg slips into the footwell and causes them to break apart as Cahir checks if she’s alright.    
  
“Dammit…” She breathes, instantly trying to go back to their kiss but Cahir is far too busy laughing.    
  
“Ciri,” He tries to form a coherent sentence but her lips are brushing against his jaw and she knows he’s finding it hard to deny her, judging by the way he’s shuffling in his seat, “Not here.”    
  
“Don’t do that to me again.” Ciri groans but chuckles mid-way through, resting their foreheads together.    
  
Cahir laughs a little, “I mean, not here as in not at the petrol pump, in the front seat where anyone can see.”    
  
“Not an exhibitionist?” Ciri presses a quick kiss to his lips and pulls away, Cahir chasing after her to brush their noses, “Noted.”    
  
He snorts, “Shut up.”    
  
She doesn’t particularly want to move away from him but she forces herself to, sliding off and into her seat before she grabs her bag.    
  
“They have bathrooms here, right?”    
  
“Yeah,” He nods, running a hand through his hair. There’s a flush still creeping up the side of his neck that Ciri is insanely proud of — perhaps a bit too proud. Cahir leans forward to point her in the right direction, “Behind the mini-mart. When you come out of the bathroom, follow the lit-up path and you’ll find the camper park.”    
  
“Alright,” Ciri leans forward to plant another kiss, this time on his cheek and Cahir smiles that small, crooked smile and she feels giddy with anticipation again, “I’ll see you soon.” 

Ciri hops out of the car and walks as quickly as she could without any passerby thinking she was odd or in trouble. Much to her disappointment, the bathrooms are not private but three stalls and three sinks.

She would have to make do. 

There’s no one else in and she breathes a sigh of relief as she throws her bag on the counter that contains the sinks. She opens the bag and gathers her hairbrush, quickly dragging it through her hair, as if Cahir would be bothered.    
  
Ciri roots around in her bag for the loose change she can hear jingling at the bottom; she scoops the few coins into her hand and walks over to the vending machine that is pinned at shoulder height to the bathroom wall. It contains several things, tampons, pads but she’s looking for the chewable toothbrush she knows they sell and finds it with relative ease. 

It pops out of the bottom after she inserts the coins and Ciri takes it out of the plastic ball it’s contained in and pops it into her mouth as she goes back to the sink; it doesn’t taste particularly nice or feel nice but she soldiers on. She had just been puking her guts up several hours ago, of course. 

Next, she lets the cold water tap run for several seconds before splashing her face and going back to the vending machine.    
  
She wasn’t sure if Cahir even had protection for them to use. Gods know she didn’t have anything of the sort in her bag.   
  
Was it even down to her to buy them?    
  
Ciri spits the chewable toothbrush in the bin below her and rests her hands on her hips, having a momentary crisis whilst the bathroom was still luckily empty.    
  
Back when she was — foolishly — dating Jarre, she always had to buy the box or, more correctly, have Yennefer buy them for her but even then, they rarely had sex. He was far too interested in drooling over her whilst she did mundane things. With Galahad, she decided to go on birth control but stopped once they split up. There was a long dry spell until she met Mistle. 

There’s always the method Yennefer taught her, she supposes.    
  
It was always best to count backwards with a clear head, which she did not have. Nor could she remember when her last period was.    
  
So that went down the drain.    
  
“Nevermind,” Ciri sighs and puts her remaining coins in the machine which spits out a silver foil package a few moments later. 

She was hoping for more than one.   
  
Ciri stuffs it into the pocket of her hoodie and zips up her bag before heading out quickly into the night.    
  
The path is well lit as Cahir had said, but the weather is becoming colder due to the closeness of the mountains and so she hurries up, seeking out the van. It’s parked towards the end of the lot and she can’t help but look at the number of other campers that are littered about in the various other spots. There’s a van parked directly next to them and she sincerely hopes that whoever’s residing inside has heard the warning about rocking and knocking.    
  
Cahir has the lights turned off when Ciri enters in the back but he’s pulled the bed out for her and added several more pillows than she normally has with her. He’s in the front seat, judging by the outline of his head that she can just make out; she puts her bag on the counter and then slips her sneakers off and places them into the overhead cupboard she had been using as a locker of some sort.    
  
“Cahir?” She calls out as she slides into the bed and beneath the covers, “Come to bed.”    
  
“I don’t want you to think,” He takes a breath in between, clearly in two minds about the situation at hand, “That I’m taking advantage of you.”    
  
“Please,” Ciri snorts, running her hand through her hair quickly as she settles her head on one of the pillows, “If anything, I’m taking advantage of you.”    
  
“Alright,” He laughs a little, “But—”   
  
“Cahir.” She warns, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, “I want you. Here. So take off your jacket and your shoes and get in here already.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, something she is extremely grateful for. She hears the zip of his leather jacket, followed by the sound of it being discarded into the neighbouring seat and then, the sound of his shoes hitting the floor. 

It feels like a century until the bed dips under his weight; his breath puffs against her nose and she raises a hand to cup his cheek as he settles his legs between hers. 

“Hi,” He greets, ever so cheekily. 

“Hi back.” She replies with a gentle smile.

Gods, she wishes every previous experience and partner she had felt like this. 

Cahir leans down and kisses her; slowly, softly, testing the waters. It’s a sweet kiss and she wants more. Or several. He pulls back and despite the darkness, she knows he’s looking over her face and it almost takes her breath away. 

They both meet the other at the same time and Ciri wraps her legs around his waist and arms around his neck, pressing their bodies together. It elicits a soft groan from Cahir who moves his kisses to her jaw; warm and wet in the way that sent tingles down her spine. 

Ciri detangles her legs from his waist and his hand instantly goes to her knee whilst hers go to the buckle of his belt. The gentle squeeze of his hand is not enough, so she places her own atop his and moves it down her leg; he gets the idea fairly quickly, moving it to grip her thigh. 

She manages just fine with the belt and slides it out, discarding it somewhere behind her head with a small clatter. Cahir tugs gently at the bottom of the hoodie, Ciri sits up a little to help him shift it over her head; it’s done quickly and discarded towards the front seat, condom in the pocket forgotten about for the time being. 

His hands are rough despite every action being done with them a gentleness like she’s not known. The sensation of the callouses upon them against the skin of her thigh feels good in a way she can’t coherently describe. His hand travels just a little further and his thumb hooks into her pants and brings them down her legs. They have to fumble, to both of their amusement. 

It feels good and healthy to laugh, instead of just straight to the point fucking. 

She can’t help but groan as he presses a kiss to her thigh; his lips taking over from where his hand had left off. 

Unexpectedly, her breath catches in her throat as he runs his tongue over her. Her hand quickly tangles into his hair, the other grabbing the sheets as she thrusts her hips up to meet his movements. He does it again, slower and she attempts to press her legs together but he stops her, arms looping around her thighs as he continues to make her see stars. 

“Gods,” She’s pleading as if he’s a divine being and whimpering like a pitiful pup as he continues with slow and teasing purposeful movements.

He slips his fingers into her as she arches up off the bed with a cry. Ciri pushes her hips into his touch; she needs more, her cries becoming needy and more desperate. Her pleas fall on deaf ears and judging by the way she hears noises coming from him too, he was enjoying himself as much as she was — the bastard. 

She trembles and Cahir speeds up; it was a mutual effort. His fingers curl up inside her right as she comes with several loud moans, her legs trembling. 

Cahir kisses her thigh, then leaves a fleeting kiss to her hip before coming to rest beside her. He takes his shirt off and discards it behind their heads before he opens his arms. Ciri can do nothing but roll towards him and rest her head on his chest. 

He presses a kiss to the top of her head and moves several strands of her sweaty hair behind her ear.

“Are you alright?” He asks a few moments later when her breathing is less heavy. 

She captures his lips in her own, all gratefulness and subtle awe before she pulls away and rests her head against his chest again.

“I am so much better than alright.” 

He laughs at that, pressing another kiss to her head.

“I’m delighted.”

“Hey, we’re not done.” She warns and he snorts cheekily, “I have a condom in my hoodie...Wherever it is.” 

“It’s okay,” He sits up just a little bit, “I bought a box of condoms from the minimart.” She hears him unzip his pants and slide them off.    
  
It was nice of him to do all the work for her.

“A gentleman, then.” Ciri practically purrs as she hears the foil packet rip. 

He lowers his voice in a manner so unlike what she had come to know and  _ Gods _ she can feel herself getting wet again already, “Did you realise that before or after I ate you out?” 

“During.” She laughs as he does too, his hand sliding up her vest and running along her ribs. 

Cahir’s hand slips under her bra next and she lies there, enjoying his touch and his caresses. She could quite possibly lie like this forever, watching the concentration on his face as he gently squeezes, causing her to gasp softly or how he kisses where his hand doesn’t reach over the fabric.

Her motto was always fuck first and feelings later — much later — but if he kept treating her and worshipping her like this, she fears it’ll be much sooner.

Gods, he was good.

“Cahir, please…” She tries to bargain with him and this time it finally works as his hand stops its tortuous movements and instead lifts her vest over her head. Ciri helps him unclasp her bra and once it’s off and gone, he kisses her. 

Ciri parts her lips for him as she reaches down to grab his cock and guide him into her. He breaks from the kiss to bury his head into her shoulder to stifle a moan as he pushes into her. 

“You’re so hot like this…” She whispers into his ear, the words slipping out. It only spurs him on more, his thrusts becoming deeper and faster, leaving her to wrap her legs around his hips.

His moans are almost as soft as he is and her own become louder when he hits a sweet spot that sends Ciri’s back arching towards the heavens. 

She can hear him muttering several expletives into her skin. It has some knock-on effect or other on her, her breaths coming in gasps as they ride through the heat together. Ciri wraps her arms around his neck and they find the right spot and rhythm for both of them.

Her legs shudder again and Cahir’s hand goes between them, his fingers rubbing desperately at her clit. 

“Fuck,” She whines, moans and almost screams as she comes, her body arching off the bed and his name a prayer on her lips. She’s breathless and runs her fingers through his hair as he thrusts several more times before he comes with a pained cry, all pent up desire releasing. 

Cahir gently rolls his hips against hers a few more times, riding out his pleasure before he rolls to the side of her and cleans himself up. Once he’s done, he offers her the towel and she cleans up as best she can before she resumes her earlier position of resting her head against his chest, his arm curled around her waist.

“You’re beautiful.” He mutters, drawing patterns against the skin of her hip.    
  
Ciri finds herself rolling her eyes, “Isn’t that what everyone says?”   
  
“Does it matter what everyone else thinks?” He makes his case, shuffling slightly to get more comfortable, “It’s what I think and have for a while, so I’m telling you now, while I still can.”    
  
Ciri had almost forgotten their earlier conversations and she buries it down, even now. She wanted to focus on the present, not their pasts or the future.    
  
“Hey,” She begins, pressing a quick kiss to the bottom of his chin as she changes the subject, “You never finished telling me about your family earlier.”   
  
“That’s what you want to talk about?” He laughs, sending tufts of her hair wafting over her forehead.    
  
“We can talk about those shit frosted tips of yours, if you want?”    
  
“Angoulȇme.” Cahir sighs, “It was a dare and yes, I know they look terrible.”    
  
“At least they’ll fade before you go back for service.” Ciri pulls the covers up higher over them both, the chill from outside steadily creeping into the back of the van.   


“Yeah,” Cahir sighs, running his fingers up and down her back; she wishes he wouldn’t but only because it’s making her sleepy, “So, what do you want to know?”    
  
“Names?” Ciri asks, willing her eyes not to shut too soon. She always got like this afterwards, “I know Angoulȇme and Regis, but the rest of your family?”    
  
“Mawr and Ceallach are my mom and dad. From them, I have one older sister, Brianna. She loves to pick on me constantly,” Ciri snorts at that, “Two younger ones, Erynn and Feena. Erynn is just starting university and Feena is still only small. Oh! Dheran, too. Younger brother but you wouldn’t think so. Going through his terrible teens.”    
  
Ciri laughs, “Is that all?”    
  
“For that half of my family, yes.”   
  
“There’s so many of you.” Ciri sighs and presses a kiss to his shoulder; whichever part of the human brain that made people so sappy after sex, she would have to thank later.    
  
“And yet…” Cahir sighs now, voice changing for a moment, “I still ended up running from a lonely, grief-filled childhood.” 

“Don’t dwell on that.” Ciri runs her hands across his collarbone, bringing his attention back to the present, “Tell me about your adopted half.”    
  
“There isn’t much there either.” Cahir shrugs his shoulders, “Angoulȇme should be starting college soon but who knows where she’s going to go with that.”    
  
“What is she going to study?” Ciri asks, admiring the happiness so clearly drawn on his face when discussing this half of his family.    
  
“I’ve no idea, it changes every week.” Cahir chuckles, his fingers moving from her back to play with the ends of the hair; she hums, content. “Last time I spoke with her, it was mechanics or business.”    
  
“Interesting combination.”    
  
“A lot is going on in her head, is all I can say.” He snorts, no doubt remembering an inside joke, “Then there’s Regis, a little odd by normal standards but he’s the best thing that happened to me.”    
  
“That’s sweet,” Ciri remarks, using her index finger to draw stars on his chest, “What does he do?”    
  
“Owns a herbal tea shop. Considers himself a bit of a chef on the side.”    
  
“Explains the wine.”    
  
“Then there’s Dettlaff who is Regis’ partner, husband, whatever. I don’t ask but they’ve been together as far back as I can remember.” Ciri raises a brow but she isn’t one to judge someone for who they love, however she knows what the general public’s view is on same-sex relationships and it is certainly not as open as she and Cahir evidently are, “He’s an...acquired taste.”   
  
“What does  _ that  _ mean?”    
  
“Grumpy,” Cahir explains and they both laugh, Ciri tucking her head in the gap between his head and shoulder. 

She has no plans to move from this position or this bed; it’s welcoming and with Cahir’s arm lightly draped around her, she feels safer than she had this entire time. His skin smells like petrol, cigarette smoke and cheap, fading cologne — it’s oddly addictive.    
  
Ciri props herself up slightly to cup his cheek, her eyes searching his face for the familiar sting of rejection but there’s no malice there, no impending heartbreak; just eyes twinkling with unspent mischief and a hopeful smile ghosting his plumped-up lips. Her thumb runs across his cheek as she thinks of comparisons to Mistle that just aren’t there. Cahir is her polar opposite in every single way, there was nothing in him that was not kindness, so much that it just radiates off him.    
  
“What are you thinking?” He whispers, moving hair from her face before resting his hand on top of hers whilst his other comes up to cup her cheek.    
  
She presses a kiss to his hand and is rewarded with a smile, “Nothing of importance.”    
  
“If you say so.”    
  
“I do,” She murmurs before leaning down to kiss him.    
  
Cahir sighs tenderly as she straddles his waist to properly lean down; his hands grip either side of her hips and she starts feeling hot again. She quickly breaks the kiss to pull the sheet over both of their heads which earns her a laugh from Cahir that soon turns into a gulp as she kisses down his chest.    
  
“You don’t have to…” He stutters and despite his words, his fingers tangle in her hair.    
  
“I want to.” She murmurs, pressing quick, sloppy kisses to both his thighs. Below her, Cahir practically melts against her touch and lips, his muscles relaxing.    
  
His fingers tighten in her hair as she grips him, about to take him in her mouth and —    
  
Cahir’s mobile rings from someplace in the van and she hears him groan in slight frustration.   
  
Ciri chuckles, “Ignore it.”    
  
“We can’t.” Cahir throws the sheet off them and Ciri huffs, rolling her eyes and then shooting him the death glare, “It’ll be your mom.”    
  
“She has impeccable timing.” Ciri snaps, secretly seething as she climbs off Cahir and scrambles in the dark for the phone that was charging up on the counter.    
  
She finds it just as it is about to ring off and she slides to unlock it quickly,    
  
“Hello! I’m here.” She says as her greeting, trying to hide as much annoyance as humanly possible.    
  
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Yennefer asks as Ciri lies back down, the back of her head resting on Cahir’s chest as if he were her pillow, if a pillow had an arm that instantly snakes around her waist, of course.    
  
“No, I was just about to head to bed.” Cahir snorts below her and she gives him a light slap on the arm, “Are you okay?”    
  
“I’m fine.” Yennefer answers with all her usual sincerity that is reserved for Ciri and Geralt, “Whereabouts are you?”    
  
“We’re going through the Amell Mountains tomorrow and into Sodden then onto Temeria.” Ciri answers, “I’ll be home in about—”   
  
Cahir, who Ciri had thought sleeping due to his slowed breathing, holds up six of his fingers.    
  
“About a week.” A small white lie wouldn’t hurt. “Is Geralt home?”    
  
“He is.” She can hear the smile in Yennefer’s voice, “Finally saw sense, if you ask me.”   
  
“I’m glad.” Ciri smiles, feeling a little more relaxed and less guilty about spending unnecessary time fucking in the back of a campervan, “I miss you both.”    
  
“And we miss you.” Yennefer sighs down the phone, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come and meet you? It really isn’t that far now.”    
  
“It’s really alright. We’re — I mean, I’m — Shit.” Ciri curses down the phone, scratching her head.    
  
What was the expression?    
  
Ah. She had put her foot well and truly in it.    
  
Yennefer chuckles down the phone, “We, is it?” Ciri swears she can hear Geralt asking several million questions in the background but she chooses to ignore his presence.    
  
“I gotta go,” Ciri blurts out quickly, “Ring tomorrow but not too early—”   
  
“Oh, will you be busy in the morning?” Yennefer snarks, Ciri’s cheeks flushing a brief but bright red.   
  
“Goodnight, Yennefer.” Ciri tries her hardest to make herself sound bored but she isn’t as good of an actor as Yennefer is.

Well, there was that one time in high school where she pretended to pass out but that’s a different story.    
  
“Goodnight, Ciri.” The teasing leaves Yennefer’s voice to make way for the softness, “Stay safe.”    
  
Ciri waits for Yennefer to hang the phone up first before she places it back on the counter above them and settles back down at Cahir’s side.    
  
He’s silent and Ciri thinks he’s fallen asleep again but he clears his throat.    
  
“So,” He swallows thickly, “When you say Geralt, you don’t mean Geralt Bellegarde, do you? From Rivia?”    
  
Ciri sits up to look at him, “You know him?”    
  
“Um, yeah.” His voice contains an awkwardness and he runs his hands down his face, sighing, “Great Sun, I’m going to be castrated.”    
  
Ciri laughs at the dramatics of it all, “Yes, yes you are.” She teases, laying back down; Cahir quickly wraps an arm around her and she rests her hand on his chest, “You’re going through a crisis and I’m sat here asking the Gods when will I finally run into someone my father hasn’t arrested or fucked?”    
  
“If it’s any consolation,” Cahir begins, chuckling slightly, “It’s neither of those things. We worked together, oh, something like three years ago? In Belhaven, hunting down some weapons dealer. Does he still work for Rivia’s division?”    
  
“No,” Ciri yawns and then shakes her head, “He had an accident about a year ago, fought some guy and injured his leg. Geralt had to have it amputated from the knee down. He has a prosthetic now and got discharged from the military.”    
  
“I’m sorry.” She can practically hear Cahir’s frown, “I should have kept in touch but I lost my bag and my phone along with it not long after. I stayed in touch with one of the other people on our team, though. That’s who I’m visiting tomorrow.”    
  
“He won’t hold it against you, he’s mostly just angry about the pains he gets now.” Ciri reassures him, kissing his shoulder, “Well, he’ll be angry when he finds out you defiled daughter.”    
  
“Defiled?” Cahir snorts and rolls his eyes, “Now I know you’re being dramatic.”    
  
“Hey!” Cahir slaps his chest playfully, “Cheeky.”    
  
He wiggles down into the covers like some kind of cute looking woodland creature and drags Ciri down with him. She doesn’t have it in her to protest and instead nestles her head beneath his chin as he holds her tight.    
  
She could get used to this kind of closeness. One that didn’t have the threat of something more sinister.    
  
The rational side of her brain tells her not to get used to it, that the day where she’ll return home and he’ll go back to service is coming quicker than she realises. She pushes it away to deal with later — she’s good at that.    
  
“We’re up early tomorrow.” Cahir notes aloud and then amends, “Well -- I am, sleeping beauty.”    
  
“Shut up.” She grumbles, feeling the vibration in his chest that came from laughter; she loved how often he laughed or chuckled, “Sleeping beauty is sleeping right now.”    
  
He doesn’t reply and settles for pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.    
  
Ciri sighs as she gets comfortable, determined to enjoy this time for what it is: A fleeting moment and nothing more.    
  
At least, that is what she tells herself. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up having to split this into two parts at the last minute, so enjoy this long chapter and a shorter one straight after!

“And here I thought, you were the type of guy who only bought takeout and microwavable food.” Ciri snarks as she hops out of the van and over to the small campfire Cahir had, no doubt, illegally started at the side of the road.    
  
“Hey, I enjoy cooking.” As if to emphasise his point, he turns over the burgers on the disposable foil tray he had elevated over the fire, “Even more so when the food is about to turn rotten in the fridge.”    
  
Ciri rolls her eyes as she sits in the rickety camping chair, warming her legs near to the fire.    
  
If someone had asked her a month ago whether she would be sitting at the side of the road, mid-afternoon on the way to Sodden with a guy she had the hots for, she would have laughed in their face — rather obnoxiously.    
  
Things don’t always work out the way they do in her head and this time, she’s incredibly grateful for that.    
  
They had aimed to be in Sodden already but Ciri’s insistence at making out for hours on end until they were both breathless and their lips were swollen hurt their journey time. Who would have guessed?    
  
There was also their adventures with the camera. Ciri wanted to document their journey over and around the mountain pass, much to Cahir’s fake annoyance. He also tried the fake annoyance thing when she would snap photos of him; if it was going to be all over in a few days, they could both have something to reminisce about. There was quite the stack of photos developing in the top cupboard.    
  
Ciri spends the time waiting for Cahir to finish cooking by fiddling with the buttons on the camera, learning the ins and outs of it. It was less modern than the one she owned and Ciri had her doubts that it was actually bought by one of his sisters — perhaps it was passed down through their large family and its original owner was lost to the years.    
  
“Shit, shit—!” Ciri looks up to find Cahir flinging one of the burgers onto a paper plate with his fingers instead of the fork he was using earlier.    
  
“What the hell are you doing?”    
  
“I burnt the plastic fork.”    
  
“Gods,” She rolls her eyes and laughs as he plates the rest of the food. Beside her, the portable radio crackles back to life, “Well, I’ll be damned.”    
  
Cahir snorts, “And there goes the half-hour you wasted trying to get it to work.”    
  
“Hey, I must have done something right.” Ciri points out, “It’s just delayed.”    
  
“Of course,” He sends a smile in her direction, finishing plating up their food, “Here you go.”    
  
Cahir brings the paper plate over to her, dropping into a little curtsey as he does. He gets a slap on the arm for that. He gathers his food and then plonks in the rickety chair next to hers. Ciri finds a minute to admire the scenery — both natural and the one sitting next to her, quietly poking his food.    
  
“Are you going to eat it or play with it?”    
  
“Do you get that attitude from Yennefer or Geralt? He strikes back, rather quickly than what she is used to from him.    
  
“Both.” She shrugs at him and it earns her a laugh.    
  
She watches as Cahir takes a hesitant sniff at the burger he had not so delicately placed in a breadcake which wasn’t making her feel all that better about eating it. Cahir takes a bite — perhaps too big of one — and almost immediately spits it out on the grass next to him.    
  
“It’s off!” He whines before spitting out a few more bits.    
  
Ciri honestly can’t believe her luck.    
  
“I thought so,” She tries her best to bite back her laughter at his face of horror, “Might as well throw ‘em to the birds.”    
  
Cahir huffs and witters something under his breath before sending his food flying off his plate and into the distance like a frisbee. Ciri passes him her plate and he does the same before folding both of their plates together and throwing them in the bag he had brought out.    
  
“What a waste of a campfire.” He huffs and Ciri chuckles, resting a hand on his shoulder.    
  
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, hey?” She runs her index finger along his cheek and follows the line of his jaw and beneath his chin, “At least we got the radio working.”    
  
He hums softly, “I suppose…”    
  
“I’ve spent too much time with you.” Ciri thinks aloud, “You’ve turned me into an optimist.”    
  
“Is that so much of a bad thing?” He asks as he takes her hand to press a gentle kiss to her palm, looking at her the entire time. He knows her too well, too quickly and he uses that to make her breath catch in her throat.    
  
“That remains to be seen.” She answers honestly. It was these quiet moments with Cahir where she truly thinks she is starting to feel okay but poison leaks back into her mind and she starts all over again.    
  
“Hey,” He stands up as the song changes to something slower-paced and crooning, “Let’s dance.”    
  
“Cahir—” Ciri begins her protests but he stands up and takes her hands; what little control she has disappears instantly, “Alright, just one.”    
  
Ciri stands from her seat and Cahir instantly draws her close to him, an arm looping around her waist; he squeezes her other hand that he still keeps hold of gently before dusting a kiss across her knuckles.    
  
“I didn’t know you were a dancer.” She looks down at their shuffling feet, her cheeks growing warm under Cahir’s direct gaze like they always did.    
  
Cahir snorts, “Maybe in another life but certainly not this one.” He spins her around slowly under his arm and brings her back to his embrace, “Everyone knows how to slow dance, don’t they?”   
  
“I suppose it isn’t too hard to shuffle your feet.” Ciri agrees, finally meeting his gaze. He’s looking at her like he always is and she thinks this is the way she should have always been looked at but she didn’t realize until now.    
  
“You suppose, huh?” He shakes his head with a small laugh, briefly looking up at the sky before his gaze travels back to her, grounding him in reality. 

Ciri stands just on the tip of her toes to kiss him, much to her disappointment. He wasn’t terribly tall but there was enough of a height difference that she had to stretch on occasion. Cahir’s lips invite her in like always and she lingers a bit longer than she should have. 

She forces herself to remember her rules about attachment and bites her lip, wrapping her arms around him as they still sway despite now being in a tight embrace. 

“We should go,” Ciri can’t believe his reasonability is contagious, “Your friend will be expecting you before it’s dark.” 

Cahir sighs, running a hand up her back so lightly she shivers, “I know.” 

“Come on,” Ciri chuckles as she pulls away from him, taking almost all of her self control, “Put the fire out.” 

“Alright,” He kisses her cheek quickly before she gets too far away.

The amount of affection she receives blinds her in all different kinds of ways. It had never been so simple with anyone else; kisses had been stolen away in dark corners or in equally dim bedrooms where no else could see. Cahir’s were open, free and constantly done in the light. She wills herself not to get used to them, that it would be over soon but she can’t help it.

By the time Ciri’s finished buckling herself into the seat and guzzling down water, Cahir has stomped out the fire and is focusing on dismantling the chairs which he attaches to the back of the van. 

“Ready?” Cahir asks as he climbs in the driving seat and fastens his seatbelt before starting the ignition.    
  
“If you are.”    
  
“Of course.” He agrees and starts his drive down the road.    
  
Ciri rolls down her window and lets her arm hang out, the breeze cooling her skin where it had once been sticky from the setting sun and the campfire. She switches the radio on with her spare hand and Cahir sighs. Apparently, he preferred to drive in silence or listen to that Gods awful screeching he liked so much  — Ciri didn’t much care for either and she set the unspoken rule of passenger controls the radio. 

It doesn’t take them particularly long to reach what initially looks like an abandoned shack in the middle of a highway but on closer inspection, it is very much the opposite.   
  
“The Red Kite?” Ciri raises her brows at Cahir who doesn’t look to know the expression on her face  — he’s far too busy perfecting his parking.    
  
“Yeah,” He lifts out of his seat just a little to see whether he is within the white lines of the bay or not. He is, judging by the way he turns the ignition off and unbuckles his seat belt, “Inside joke of hers.” 

“Oh,” Ciri observes how his mood is even perkier than normal and finds it contagious, “I see.”    
  
She steps out of the van, remembering to grab her bag. Cahir takes a little while longer before hopping out and shoves his keys into the back pocket of his jeans which was oddly nice to watch.    
  
It isn’t a particularly long walk from the rear parking lot to the main entrance but Ciri takes note of every little thing on their way around; the dumpsters are practically squeaky clean, there’s a designated smoking area and surprisingly, no crowds of men leering at the doors. 

There are several women though and Ciri finds they look rather intimidating; cut-off leather biker jackets, bracelets and bangles that go halfway up their arms. They stop looking intimidating once one of them flashes Cahir a smile and a small wave. 

Cahir heads towards the door a little quicker and Ciri is unsure of how to act around him — should she take his hand, allow him to wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her closer so they can walk together? They were past that, weren’t they?    
  
She used to hold hands with Mistle in that sickeningly sweet way, swinging hands and the like. The thought made her feel sick now. 

The door opens with a loud creak and Cahir holds it open, allowing her to duck underneath his arm with a cheeky smile. 

It’s not as bustling as she imagined but that’s no doubt due to the sun still being up — it seemed like one of those bars. There are flashing neon lights scattered here and there, a jukebox playing slow rock and two people playing darts in the corner. Other patrons are either half-drunk at the bar or half-drunk at various tables. 

“Cahir!” A woman’s voice practically booms from the other side of the bar and the next thing Ciri knows is Cahir colliding with its owner. 

“I missed you.” She hears him say but his voice is muffled by the tightness of his friend’s embrace; she was rather tall, at least, taller than her but just a little smaller than Cahir. She was more muscular than him, that was for sure. Ciri was kind of impressed. 

“I missed you, too.” She says, pulling back to look Cahir over, “You’ve not gotten any prettier.” 

Cahir scoffs and shoves her arms away, “Shut up.” 

“You’re not going to introduce me to your new friend then, scamp?” She asks, locking eyes with Ciri for the first time. Ciri wishes she could curl inwards — her gaze is more direct than Cahir’s and certainly more intimidating. 

“You remember Geralt?” Cahir waits for the nod of confirmation, “This is Ciri, his daughter. Ciri, this is Milva.” 

Ciri doesn’t have a chance to introduce herself, say a greeting or nothing else of the sort.

Milva looks from her to Cahir, back to her and then that formidable gaze finally rests once more on Cahir.

“You dirty bastard.” Milva swats his shoulder which Cahir dodges with impressive reflexes — this wasn’t the first swipe, then. “And how did you meet, huh?”

“That’s probably best told over a drink?” Ciri interjects, trying to steer the topic away from where she knows it’s going.

Cahir nods eagerly, “A nice cold one. Though, I hear they’re lacking around here.”

“Do you want another slap?” 

“I want a drink. Did you not just hear us?” Cahir avoids another slap and starts making his way over to the bar, leaving Ciri alone with Milva.

“How do you put up with him?” Milva asks, seemingly dumbfounded. 

Ciri laughs a little and shakes her head, “He must reserve his sarcasm for you. I haven’t seen that much of it.” 

Milva joins in with the laughter and Ciri feels the ice breaking, piece by piece.

“Apparently so.” She gestures for Ciri to follow her over to the bar with a jerk of her head, “He thinks he can get away with it with me but Gods forbid a bonny girl sees one hint of sarcasm…” 

“I don’t mind it.” Ciri slides onto the stool next to Cahir who is watching her, cocktail stick hanging out of his mouth with mischief written all over his face. 

“Wouldn’t be saying that if you knew him as long as I have.” 

Cahir winks in Ciri’s direction and Gods, she hates this side of him. Or so she tells herself. He does look hotter than normal. 

“Speaking of sour bastards,” Milva begins as she pulls them both a pint, “How’s Geralt?” 

“Fine by his standards,” Ciri mutters her thanks as she takes the cold drink from Milva and sips it — she had good taste in the beer she served.

“Ciri was telling me he lost the lower of his leg.” 

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” Ciri wipes some froth from her top lip, “It was either that or be in agony with it for the rest of his life.” 

“Ouch.” Milva visibly winces, “Well, you tell him I send my regards.” 

“I will.” Ciri nods. Cahir rests his hand discreetly on her knee, thumb rubbing over her skin. His little and often approach to affection was winning her over all too quickly.

“And how did you two meet?” Milva asks, throwing a small tea towel over her shoulder. 

Cahir looks to Ciri to answer; after all, it was more her story than his. 

“How much time do you have?” 

Milva leans forward and rests her elbow on the counter, a frown of concern working its way onto her face, “As much as you need.” 

Ciri feels safe surrounded by these two. She puts it down to them knowing Geralt — he would never be friends with people who would hurt her or judge too harshly. 

She takes a sip of her beer and then a deep breath. 

It takes her several long minutes to explain the entire dire situation to Milva. Cahir remains quiet during her speech but his hand remains on her knee; Ciri doesn’t find it in her to care  — the reassurance is welcomed.    
  
“Fuckin’ hell…” Milva breathes afterwards, immediate concern flashing across her face, “You tell me what she looks like and if she ever comes in here — ”   
  
“Milva,” Cahir warns gently, “Leave it.”   
  
“No, it’s alright.” Ciri places her hand on top of his, “If I don’t talk about it, I never will.”    
  
Cahir doesn’t say anything more, no doubt in fear of saying the wrong thing. Ciri wasn’t sure it was in his nature to say the wrong thing; he had consistently said the right thing for the duration of their time together.   


“It’s a good attitude to have.” Milva remarks and Ciri can’t help but smile; she silently wishes she had friends like her and Cahir years ago but wishes wouldn’t change the past.    
  
“How come you aren’t in the military anymore?” Ciri changes the subject as best she can and breathes a sigh of relief when Cahir visibly relaxes in his seat.    
  
Milva audibly groans and Cahir chuckles, “Made a mistake or several, ended up with a kid.”    
  
“Oh,” Ciri has to blink a few times  — it was certainly not the response she was expecting, “Where are they?”    
  
“Staying with his dad for the summer.” Milva’s comment throws Ciri for a loop and she can’t help but take a glance at Cahir, the only option she had for the kid’s father now debunked, “He turns four in a few weeks.”   
  
“And they discharged you?” 

“Yeah,” Milva nods now, collecting three glasses from a nearby patron, “I only had six months left of service anyway.”    
  
“You’re also not supposed to sleep with members of your division — ” Cahir doesn’t finish his sentence and is instead hit with Milva’s tea towel of choice.    
  
“Enough of the filling her ears with shit.” She sends Cahir a glare, ever the comedic duo, bickering with each other when the affection was so plain to see, “I’ll go get you both something to eat.”    
  
“Thank you,” Ciri says in unison with Cahir.   
  
“Are you just staying the one night?” Milva asks before she heads off, about to turn in the direction of the kitchens, “I’ll get you your room sorted.”    
  
“Just one—”   
  
“Two,” Ciri interjects, her mouth perhaps running more quickly than her mind. Cahir looks at her from the corner of his eyes and raises a brow but remains silent.    
  
Milva doesn’t say anything but shakes her head with a smile before heading off.    
  
“Two, huh?” And just like that, the cocky smirk is back and Ciri’s head rushes.    
  
“I didn’t realise they had rooms here.” Ciri begins and rests her elbow on the counter, taking him in like he was going to go out of fashion, “They have showers?”   
  
“Of course.”    
  
“Lovely.”    
  
“That the only thing on your mind?” Cahir inquires, a flush building upon his cheeks.    
  
“Nope,” Ciri smirks to herself, “I was wondering something.”    
  
Cahir narrows his eyes, unsure of whether to play along, “Yes…”   
  
“Fancy a round of darts?” This is the first time she sees Cahir momentarily lost for words and then he laughs  — loudly.   
  
“If it’s darts you want to play, Milva is your best bet.” Cahir takes the cocktail stick from his mouth and drops it in his empty glass — finally, “Her aim is quite deadly.”    
  
“Come on,” Ciri stands from her seat and takes his hand, practically dragging him from his seat, “I gave you a dance.”    
  
Cahir whines as he stands, “I’d rather play snooker.”    
  
“Later.” Her pleading works for a change and he wraps his arms around her waist, planting several hot kisses to her neck. 

Public displays of affection used to make her cringe — observing and participating — but now, with his lips against some of the most sensitive parts of her skin, she finds she didn’t mind at all.

It was no doubt the buzz of alcohol in his veins too, she tells herself. That’s all they were for each other. Someone warm to curl up against in the night when the dark came.

But sometimes Cahir looks at her as if she were something more.    
  
“I didn’t think you would know how to play.” Cahir releases his grip of her waist as she gathers the darts that had been left on the side, handing him his half.    
  
“Why not?” She tucks her hair behind her ears, “I was largely raised by Geralt, you know?”    
  
“Forgive me, then.” Cahir rests against the empty snooker table and she lets herself indulge in the sight of him; tousled hair, stubble perfectly present and dressed from head to toe in black. Without a doubt the best looking guy she ever hitched a ride from, “It was only a blur of time with him. I sometimes forget what he’s like.”    
  
“Lucky for you, the Gods sent me hitchhiking.” That elicits a laugh from him, “You know how to play 301?”    
  
Cahir nods, fiddling with a dart in his good hand whilst Ciri prepares her shot. She squints and lines it up before she throws the dart, landing perfectly on the single scoring seventeen. Cahir whistles under his breath before he throws his dart, landing exactly opposite hers.    
  
“Ladies first, then.” He says with the perfect amount of sass to get Ciri rolling her eyes.    
  
“You sound like a sore loser.” She teases as she aims and then throws, landing a measly triple four.    
  
“I am. It’s terrible.” He drawls, effortlessly hitting a double bullseye.    
  
Cahir enthusiastically raises his arms in the air, “Winner!”    
  
“You haven’t won.” She rolls her eyes, trying to hide the fact the roles had reversed as she was slowly becoming the sore loser.    
  
At some point during their match, Milva brings over more beer and food for them to share as they all mercilessly bicker and taunt each other.    
  
Everything blurs around Ciri as she completely emerges herself in the warmth, coming not only from Cahir but Milva too. Their friendship is sweet and brings everyone within a certain radius into it.    
  
Occasionally, Ciri allows Milva to take her turn, only amplifying Cahir’s rather adorable pouting  — it’s an effort to be an even bigger sore loser, she thinks.    
  
Ciri and Milva win two rounds and are in the lead for the last turn of their third when Milva gently rests a hand on both of their shoulders, “I have to force myself away, I’m afraid.”    
  
Cahir’s pout grows, “Come on…”    
  
“I have a bar to run!” Milva protests with a light chuckle, giving Ciri’s shoulder a light squeeze  — as light as her grip could be, of course, “It was nice meeting you tonight, Ciri.”    
  
“And you.” She replies honestly, now understanding why Milva was so special to Cahir; she was the kind of woman that came along all too rarely, the kind people hated for being too angry, too strong for their liking but not for Ciri. As someone who grew up with Yennefer, Milva was a breath of fresh air.    
  
Milva releases Ciri from her vice grip and gathers a key from her back pocket, “Your room. Twin, right?”    
  
Cahir’s eye flash to Ciri and then back to Milva, “Come on — ”   
  
“I’m joking.” She doesn’t have to look at Milva to know the blonde has given Cahir her signature eye roll as she thrusts the keys at his chest; Cahir quickly grabs them and shoves them into his back pocket, “Queen, same as usual.”    
  
“You’re the best.” Cahir presses a quick kiss to Milva’s cheek who tries to dodge but fails incredibly; she settles for glaring at him as she heads back off towards the kitchens, their empty plates in tow.    
  
“Your turn, Cahir.” Ciri reminds him, instantly back to the game at hand, her competitive streak still running strong.    
  
“Okay, last one.” He gulps down the last few mouthfuls of his pint before wildly throwing his last dart, landing on a single two. “Shit.”    
  
“Too bad,” Ciri’s cockiness pays off as she throws and hits the triple twelve, giving her a total score well past the three hundred figure she needed. With a shit-eating grin on her face, Ciri raises her arms as he did earlier, “Winner!”    
  
Cahir shakes his head, amusement written all over his face. Ciri makes the mistake of walking towards him with her arms still up and he grabs her sides, tickling her weakest spots. She squirms, his touch as warm as it is ticklish. She forgets about the rest of the patrons in the bar  — there aren't many of them still conscious either way  — and only he exists in this very moment, his touch and their shared laughter chasing thoughts and clouds away.    
  
“Alright, enough!” She manages to spit out in the break between her bouts of laughter, Cahir twirls her around to face him, once again resting against the snooker table.

“You’re a cruel woman, Cirilla.” He cups her chin beneath his thumb and index finger, drawing her face up to see her properly in the light. Dingy as the bar is, his eyes are still impossibly blue and she silently wonders what still hides from her in their depths.    
  
“I wouldn’t be me without that.” Her words are true, no matter how much good he may see in her  — there’s that edge to her she buries and will continue to do until it is long gone.    
  
He hums, neither in disagreement or agreement but for some other reason entirely as he leans down to kiss her; gently and undeservingly. He releases his feather-like grip on her chin and instead, curls his arms around her waist as she does the same, looping around his neck and pushing them closer.    
  
She could kiss him for hours on end,  _ would _ kiss him for hours on end if time or setting would allow. It never works out like that. Ciri cups his cheek as she pulls away from the kiss and she cannot resist kissing him once, twice more as he chases her lips like they were going out of fashion. 

“How about some snooker?”    
  
“Seriously?” Cahir whines, infuriatingly needy, “Don’t you want to go to bed?” His voice sounds husky and it sends the tiniest shiver down her back.    
  
“Soon.” She kisses him twice in quick succession, “I promise.”    
  
Cahir forces himself to part from her, “This is the cruelty I was talking about.”    
  
“Yeah, yeah.” Ciri rolls her eyes, watching him disappear into the corner in those tight jeans to collect the cues for them to play, “You’re so hard done by.” 

Cahir hands her a cue without saying anything; he doesn’t need to. She’s gotten fairly good at reading his expression and she can tell he finds it just a little bit funny by the slight curve of his lips. 

“Teach me?” She has yet to finish her merciless tormenting and she walks over to the table with an over the top sway of her hips.

“So, you want to play snooker but you don’t know how to play?” He raises a brow in her direction, polishing the butt of a cue with his t-shirt. 

“Is there a problem?” Ciri doesn’t pay him a second glance — she’s too busy organising the balls into their triangular shape.

“Not at all.” He’s behind her almost instantly, hand resting on the small of her back where her vest has ridden up, leaving the smallest gap of exposed skin. 

Maybe he could play along with her game, after all.

“Aim your cue.” Cahir presses his chest against her back as she aims it, his chin resting on her shoulder as he helps her line up the shot. Ciri can feel his breath hot against her cheek, “You can only hit the white ball.”    
  
“I think I understand,” She lies through her teeth and she’s almost certain Cahir is catching on as he presses a quick kiss to her cheek; he keeps a grip of her cue as she brings it back and hits the white ball which ricochets directly into a red one.    
  
“I think you know exactly how to play this game.” Cahir keeps his voice low as he steps back and goes to the other side of the table as he waits for her to take the second turn.    
  
“And?” Ciri takes another shot and hits the black  — eight points already was not too shabby. She takes her third shot and misses, trying to hide the disappointment on her face.   
  
“I think you’re despicable,” He murmurs as he leans towards the table to take his opening shot. Cahir perfectly hits a red and goes for the pink which he also hits. 

Ciri whistles and starts her turn but misses, much to her disappointment. Cahir is wise enough to not deliver a witty remark, instead choosing to focus on his turn; he hits the ball Ciri was after and winks in her direction as he hits another, score steadily rising.    
  
“You must have hung out at plenty of bars to be so good.” Ciri goads, hitting the cue ball into a red; she sets her sights firmly on the blue and gets what she wants.    
  
“Not really,” Cahir pauses mid-sentence to take a shot which he hits perfectly the first time, “You do know you can buy snooker tables, right?”    
  
Ciri taps the butt of her snooker cue against the floor a few times, “You have one?”    
  
“Yeah,” His words come out more like a groan as he almost stretches from one end of the table to the other, determined to hit the brown ball  — he does, unfortunately for Ciri, “Angoulĕme convinced Regis to let her convert the cellar into a games room.”    
  
“Really?” Ciri watches as he hits another red ball, quickly catching up with her score.    
  
“Yeah,” Cahir steps back to allow her to take her pot, his eyes burning into her back as she stretches over the table, “I suppose it’s a half-game room and the other half is a wine cellar.”    
  
“Getting drunk whilst playing games? Sounds like my idea of a fun night.” She hits a red, followed by a measly yellow. “What do you have in there?”    
  
“Snooker table, there’s a chessboard for Regis and Dettlaff,” Cahir takes his turn, hitting a red and a green straight off the bat  — they were neck and neck now, “A pinball machine Brianna got me for my last birthday and a shuffleboard.”    
  
“Gods, I haven’t seen a shuffleboard in years.” Ciri goes silent as she concentrates but only manages to hit a red, now almost certainly the loser.

“That was Dettlaff’s idea.” Cahir chuckles to himself, hitting a red and the last coloured ball, now the winner despite the seven red balls still on the table, “I think he secretly likes playing it.”

“He and Geralt would get along.” She adds, potting another and then stepping aside for Cahir to do the same, “We got a game console to share but he never does and we argue over it constantly.” 

Cahir laughs heartily, “See, that’s why Angoulême and I have separate ones. No cause for argument.” 

“It was supposed to be mine,” Ciri practically grows in her reminiscing, “But now it’s his. He sneaks it out of my room and then next thing you know, he’s up all hours pretending to rob people.” 

“He’s old, let him have some leisure.” His argument is somewhat reasonable but Ciri refuses to accept it; Cahir hits the last remaining ball and straightens up, grinning all too proudly, “I think I’m the winner here.” 

“Alright,” She huffs, her bottom lip jutting out involuntary as Cahir makes his way to her and rests his hands on her shoulders, “By one point.” 

“A win is a win.” His hands move to cup her cheeks and soon enough she’s laughing again as he captures her lips sweetly several times — a rather good attempt at buttering her up. 

They’re acting like a pair of horny teenagers, not caring if anyone is watching. 

“Bar’s almost empty,” She says aloud, brushing her nose against Cahir’s; the smile she receives is something she’ll cherish for a while despite how the way he gazes at her still terrifies her.   
  
“And now she wants to go to bed.” He murmurs, voice consistently soft and the tops of his cheeks flushed, “She’s awfully demanding.”   


“She is standing right here.” 

“So she is.” He answers, running his hands down her arms, her skin tingling from the roughness.    
  
She rolls her eyes, “Come on,” His hand slips into hers almost effortlessly and all thoughts of whether they should or shouldn’t from earlier disappear completely from her head; she quite likes the feel of his hand clasped around hers.    
  
Cahir pulls her gently into the correct direction and leads them towards a corridor, various doors littered within the wooden panelling and the gaps between decorated with various hunting trophies.    
  
“Hey — ” Ciri stops abruptly, “A claw machine!”    
  
Cahir sighs and backtracks his steps, eventually standing beside her at the contraption which, despite her glee at seeing it, was painted a rather ugly and bold yellow.    
  
“You haven’t seen one before, or something?” Cahir rests his hand against the small of her back  — it was its favourite resting place.    
  
“Of course I’ve seen one,” She clicks her tongue and resists the urge to roll her eyes or elbow him in the ribs, “No one’s ever won me anything from one before.”    
  
Cahir takes a glance at her from the corner of his eye and then sighs, fishing out his wallet and taking out several orens before slotting them in the gaudy machine.    
  
“Which one do you want?” He’s trying his best to sound unimpressed, moody and terribly bored  — Ciri doesn’t buy it for a moment and instead wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes tightly.    
  
She mulls over the incredible choices of stuffed, fluffy creatures: a rather cute-looking giant toad, a werewolf, something that resembles a drowner and the one Ciri set her sights on, “The golden dragon?”    
  
“Of course you pick the hardest one to get.” He mutters, pressing the start button as she lands a kiss on his cheek.    
  
“And know that I appreciate every effort you put into getting it.”    
  
Cahir doesn’t have a witty remark this time, concentration getting the better of him if the way he ducks his head to see better or bites his lip was anything to go by. He completely misses the first grab and instead, almost pulls the head off the drowner.    
  
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ask the sore loser to win her a stuffed toy.    
  
“Dammit,” The frown on his face grows deeper as the metal claw returns to its starting position.    
  
“Try only moving a little to the left.” She advises and then regrets it when she squints and looks at the angle.    
  
“Alright…” Cahir doesn’t sound like he’s particularly convinced by her judgement but does it anyway, the buttons of the machine giving fast and loud clicks as he hits them a little too aggressively.    
  
The claw manages to grip the dragon’s head and lifts it half-way; Ciri grabs Cahir’s shoulders, prepared to congratulate him when it drops back to the bottom of the machine. Their heavy sighs come out in unison  — something she would laugh at if she were not so disappointed.    
  
“Okay,” Cahir cracks his neck most disturbingly and gives himself a peppy jig, “Two more attempts.”    
  
Ciri squeezes his shoulders in encouragement, “You almost had it.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair before it goes back to the console.

“I’ll get it this time.” He promises, pressing the button to start the next round.    
  
Ciri presses a quick kiss to his shoulder for good luck. The claw makes a similar descent towards the dragon and grips it around its fabricated torso before pulling it up, up and up. She doesn’t want to hold her breath but involuntarily does so as the toy stays in the metal grasp. Cahir presses one of the buttons quickly and the claw drops into the plastic box, the dragon eventually tumbling out at their feet.  
  
“You did it!” Ciri exclaims, all disbelief and childlike excitement as she picks the toy off the floor. It’s rather cute, she thinks as she admires its shiny looking scales.    
  
“I’m glad you like it.” Cahir chuckles and gives the dragon a rub on the head as if it’s his new pet dog  — Ciri can’t help but roll her eyes and shoo his hand away, “Are you giving it a name?”    
  
“Um — ” She can’t believe she’s thinking about it seriously, “Gordon?”    
  
“I was going to suggest Borch, like in the stories,” Cahir rubs his nose to prevent laughter, “But Gordon is much better.”    
  
“Don’t hurt his feelings.” His arms slip around her waist, strong and firm; his closeness almost makes her dizzy but she fights it, “You’ll hurt mine, too.”    
  
“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you.” The choice of words have a clear double meaning; he’s reminding her, gently, that he is a thousand leagues away from Mistle.    
  
“I know,” Ciri cups his cheek and finds herself drowning in those eyes of his; she had previously thought they were like a summer’s ocean but now, in the dim light, they were almost lapis blue and somehow, even more intense. “Thank you, for everything.”    
  
“Don’t.” He warns her, voice unwavering and so sure of itself, “I told you, there’s nothing to thank me for. It’s just...decency.”    
  
“I don’t think I’m that familiar with it.” She attempts to look at the floor, her quickest way of hiding but his fingers grip her chin and tilt it upwards  — there’s no precious stone blue there anymore but something darker, as if he hates what happened to her and he would change it, protect her, given half a chance. 

“We all get the hang of it eventually.” He releases the grip on her chin to tuck hair behind her ear, his knuckles cold against the hot skin of her cheek. 

“Eventually,” She agrees before standing on her tiptoes and capturing his lips. 

Cahir’s arms quickly snake back around her waist and lead her backwards, towards his intended location. He fumbles in his back pocket for the key and breaks away from her lips to open the door with a satisfying click.

Once their door is firmly shut and the lock is turned, her lips are back against his, her bag and stuffed toy haphazardly discarded in the corner. 

“You’ve probably just killed Gordon.” He observes as she slides her hands up his shirt to pull it off. 

“Shut up.” She laughs as she pulls the shirt over his head before he bends back down to leave a few kisses to the corner of her lips, jaw and neck before he meets her lips properly again. Ciri runs a hand up his back, admiring the way his muscles move beneath the skin as he aids her other hand to undo his belt buckle and remove his jeans. 

He quickly kicks his shoes someplace or other and Ciri follows suit before he pulls at the edge of her vest and lifts it off. She helps him to make things quicker and shimmies out her skirt. 

With no notice, Cahir hooks his hands around her waist and lifts her off the ground; her legs sliding around his waist as he carries her to bed. 

“You don’t mess around, huh?” She’s breathless and panting like she’s out of practice and she tries to focus by putting her arms around his neck, playing with the small curls of hair there. 

“Nope.” He all but drops her onto the bed and joins her, knees at either side of her legs and his lips attacking her neck. His stubble scratches at her skin and  _ Gods _ she hopes he keeps it forever because it feels  _ good. _

Ciri spreads her legs for him to fit better and he rewards her by grinding against her, eliciting a moan from them both. His fingers hook into her pants and he slides them effortlessly down her legs; all too familiar with what he was about to do, Ciri shuffles further up the bed, quickly noting how much comfier and sturdier it was compared to the van’s bed before resting her head on the pillows. 

He nips her thigh and soothes the red mark with his tongue. Quickly, he sends an all too pleased with himself smirk up at Ciri before he works his tongue against her. Her legs wrap around his neck as he follows the pattern he knew made her moan and writhe the most. 

She closes her eyes and arches her back as she slips a finger inside her, “Fuck,” Her thighs squeeze him close whilst her fingers curls into his hair, making him groan in a way that vibrates through her. 

He presses his tongue harder against her and she cries, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck me already…” She breathes, writhing beneath his grip.

“Not yet.” It’s almost a promise and Ciri thinks of something witty to reply but all is lost as he slips another finger inside her and curls then upwards. 

She cries out, tension heightening as she focuses on the feeling. Ciri runs her hands through his hair as he keeps her steady; Cahir abruptly stops and untangles himself from her, hovering above her briefly before he kisses her like she would be gone in the morning. 

“Condom?” He asks rather urgently.

Ciri can barely think straight, “Bag.” 

He quickly climbs off the bed and Ciri hears him shuffling in the dark before the bed dips once more under his weight. She flips over onto her stomach and feels him hesitate.

“Are you sure?” He asks, voice low as if someone would hear them.

“I want you.” She wets her lips and swallows thickly, “Please.” 

She doesn’t need to tell him twice: her grabs her hips and hikes them up before pushing into her with one swift, slick move. Ciri grabs one of the pillows as he pulls back out and torturously slides back in.

“Don’t,” She groans as he laughs, enjoying himself far too much. Ciri rocks back into him as he makes himself more comfortable before diving into a pace that drives them both mad. 

Ciri cries and curses into the abundance of pillows whilst Cahir grips her hips, doing his best to keep up with the tempo she demands from him. His hand runs down her back, making her shiver before she peers over her shoulder, the image enough to make her moan. 

Cahir notices and leans forward, still thrusting into her like she wants and kisses her, practically growling into it. Ciri brushes her tongue against his lips and he pulls away, softly biting her shoulder.

“Great Sun, you’re beautiful.” He murmurs, voice hoarse as he kisses a slow trail down the line of her back. 

Ciri buries her head back into the pillows, moaning into them as she rocks back into him more demanding and his hand finds her clit, teasing her relentlessly. She cries out, body trembling and tightening before her release washes over her fiercely. 

He thrusts into her a few more times before he shudders softly and succumbs to his pleasure, the movement creating goosebumps on her skin.

It takes a moment for him to roll off her and flop beside her on the bed, utterly spent. Ciri comes up from the pillows and moves almost all of her hair from out of her face, making him laugh. 

She trails a finger down the length of his nose whilst he places an arm behind his head to use for support, seeing as she stole all the pillows. Ciri moves to cup his cheek, looking at him in a way that makes his eyes light up and breath catch in his throat. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together. 

“Because,” She now moves to trace his jawline which was, quite frankly, impressive, “You have utterly spoiled and impressed me. I desperately needed that.”    
  
“I’m glad to be of service, then.” He dodges the swat of her hand expertly.   
  
“I didn’t mean like that.” She murmurs as he takes her hand, entwining their fingers before he presses a kiss to her knuckles  — internally, she’s still telling herself not to get attached. 

“I know, Ciri.” She lies her head on his chest as he speaks and his fingers instantly card their way through her hair, not caring about her being sweaty or not smelling like fresh roses.    
  
They stay like that for a while; enjoying the moment of quiet with one another and Ciri finds herself almost dozing off, if not for Cahir fidgeting with his legs every few minutes.    
  
“You can go clean up first, if you like.” He kisses the side of her head in that way he always did; softly and sweetly.    
  
“The washroom’s over there?” She points towards the other door in the room, not lifting her head from his chest. It was far too comfortable.    
  
“Washroom?” He snorts a little and she finally lifts her head to look at him; his cheeks are still flushed, eyes heavy-lidded. He’s never looked more attractive, “It’s a bathroom, Ciri. Shower, tub, toilet and sink.”    
  
“Gods,” She sits up properly, “That sounds divine.”    
  
Cahir kisses her quickly, “Go, enjoy yourself.”    
  
“You’re not gonna clean up?” She wrinkles her nose, getting ready to tease him but he’s starting to know her too well and shoves her lightly, almost rolling her off the bed as she laughs, half-wild.    
  
“I will!” He promises, “Just not with you staring at me.”    
  
“Oh, come on,” Ciri drawls, sending him an eye roll as she gathers her discarded clothes from different corners of the room, “I’ve seen you naked, you know. We’re all friends here.”    
  
“Stop it.” His laughter drags out his words and Ciri takes another look at his face, so sated and full of joy that it makes her heart pulse sadly for what was going to come, roughly any day now.    
  
The bathroom is certainly better than she was expecting; the white walls make it feel almost prison-like but the shower is decent enough and the bathtub better than she thought it was going to be. There’s a small shelf littered with the tiniest bottles of bath oil, shampoo, conditioner and various body gels. Ciri almost dies at the heavenly sight.    
  
Quickly, she switches on the shower and the access to hot water is almost instant; she sticks her hand beneath it as soon as she’s moved the screen aside so she’s able to step in without risk of slipping.    
  
“Cahir?” She calls out, slightly louder than normal due to the running water.    
  
“Yeah? Everything okay?” Judging by the sound of his voice, he’s still laid out on the bed.    
  
Ciri pokes her head out of the door briefly, “Shower is big enough for two.”   
  
She ducks back into the room, smirking proudly as she hears the bed groan now it has no weight left on it.    
  
“Wait for me, then.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> annnnnd, part 2!

Ciri isn’t particularly a morning person but when she comes to with the soft brushing of lips against her shoulder, she thinks she could be. 

“Good morning,” Cahir croons before burying his head into her neck, arm firmly wrapped around her waist.   
  
“Morning,” She stretches her legs and then frowns, “Why are you fully clothed?”   
  
Cahir laughs, “I got up early.”   
  
Ciri turns around properly to face him, “Why?”   
  
“Well, for one, I had to sneak to the van and get another shirt.” He reinforces his point by grabbing the hem of the one she had claimed as hers last night.   
  
She hits his shoulder weakly, still heavy limbed, “Not my problem.”   
  
“Hm, of course not…” He half chuckles as he leans down to give her a sweet kiss; Ciri attempts to deepen it as his hand moves to her leg but he pulls away, earning a pout, “I’ve gotta go help Milva out.”   
  
“I see how it is.” Cahir raises a brow cheekily but it fades when she kisses his chin, replaced by that gentleness of his, “What does she need? Can I help?”   
  
“It’s the arrangement we have.” He almost sighs, his hand slipping up her shirt and his thumb rubbing the soft skin of her thigh, “I get a free room for however many nights I want when I drop by, so long as I help her do the jobs around here that she can’t do by herself.”   
  
“Ah, I see.” He kisses the hollow of her throat quickly and Ciri finds the urge to flip them over and keep him in the bed for a while yet increasing, “It could be worse.”   
  
“I don’t mind, either way.” She hates the way he’s somehow even softer with her in a morning — she knows it’s only going to make it sting her worse than she wants, “And you can relax, sleep, shower, watch TV. Normal things.”   
  
“Normal things.” Ciri snorts, running her hand through his hair and pushing it back, “I think I’ve forgotten what a television is.”   
  
“I’ll get one installed in the van for — ” He cuts himself off; she knows what he was going to say and she’s glad he stopped himself before it left his mouth. Still, she can’t help but feel the gnawing guilt that’s been consuming her steadily day by day.   
  
“Get one installed anyway.” She suggests, still running her fingers through his hair — she loves the way it makes him look younger when it’s pushed back, all innocent like when he was the furthest thing from that, “It’s better than staring at the stars to make you sleep.”   
  
“Good point.” He agrees, swallowing thickly to push whatever he was going to say even further down, “I’ll get you some breakfast?”   
  
“Sounds lovely.” She’s glad for the change of subject, “What do they serve?”   
  
“Whatever you want.” He shrugs and leans into her touch as she moves her hand to his cheek, “Kitchens aren’t open yet so I’ll make you something.”   
  
“In that case, I’ll have whatever you can cook without burning it.” Cahir rolls his eyes and gets up off the bed. Ciri grabs his hand quickly and pulls him back down for a kiss, lingering a tad longer than she wanted. 

“As you wish,” He murmurs against her lips before he gets up again — this time she lets him go and takes a good, lingering look as he heads out the door.

Once he’s gone, she sighs and sits up in the bed to run her hands through her hair. 

Almost a whole day to herself. 

After spending so much time in the company of, quite often, more than one person, this was almost brand new again.  
  
Sleeping seemed like a good bet; the bed was more comfortable and the pillows were heavenly but she didn’t want to sleep for the full day. She’d slept so much whilst Cahir drove that she's surprised she wasn’t running around like a tornado most days, all unspent energy.

Ciri reaches for the remote on the bedside table and switches the set that’s planted on a wooden table in the corner of the room on. The channels are boring; sitcoms she’s seen a thousand times with Geralt, therapy shows which she did not need right now and dating shows which also were on her no go list. She flicks it onto a music station.

Huffing her entire way out of the bed and into the bathroom, she decides a bath is the safest bet for now and runs the hot water. After a quick browse of the oils, she chooses the one that is supposed to smell like rosemary and lavender. 

The water is hot, soothing and very welcoming as she sinks in as far as she can go, letting her head rest against the edge of the tub. It does wonders for the aches she still has in her legs and soothes the thoughts lingering at the edges of her mind.   
  
Ciri’s mind was constantly on thoughts of home — she missed Geralt and Yennefer deeply, she also wanted to be in her own room, own bed and recover from everything but as much she told herself not to, she had formed _some_ attachment to Cahir. It made everything harder. 

She didn’t want to be cruel, he had been too kind and caring towards her to even entertain that particular thought. Hopefully, it would happen naturally — there was no getting around their situations; he had to leave and she had to go back. Sometimes, she thought about staying with him but it was much too soon and certainly too fast. There was nothing she could give him like he deserved with Mistle still tearing her apart from the inside.   
  
“Ciri?” He interrupts her thoughts, as he so often did, voice wafting in through the small crack she had left in the door.   
  
“Bathroom!” She clears her throat, her voice coming out more shaky than she expected.   
  
He finds her after a few seconds delay, opening the door with a smile and a tray in his hands; she somewhat bitterly thinks he’d make someone a fine house husband.   
  
“Pancakes?” She asks as she slides up a little, sitting properly and sending him a sweet smile, “So you can cook?”   
  
“Hey!” He laughs, passing her the tray as he sits delicately on the edge of the tub; there’s a decent-sized stack of pancakes on the plate, littered with bananas and blueberries and drenched in syrup, “I can cook perfectly fine, the food was just out of date and the cutlery not suitable.”   
  
“Excuses, excuses.” Ciri taunts as she takes her first forkful of the pancakes; they’re somewhat sickly sweet but she delights in the taste even if she’ll throw up later, “They’re lovely.”   
  
“Really?” His voice goes a little high as if it’s caught him by surprise.   
  
“Yeah,” she chuckles, gathering another good heap on her fork before she passes it to him; he quickly takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully, “See?”   
  
“It’s pretty good.” He confirms, talking with his mouthful; he swallows before he talks again, “I’ll leave you to it.”   
  
“Tub’s big enough for two.”   
  
“Tempting offer.” He chuckles, quickly leaning down to kiss her, “But a promise is a promise.”   
  
“Out of all the people in the Continent, how did I get stuck with the noblest, honest guy I’ve ever met?” She questions as he pulls back and stands up, smiling to himself in that dorky way.   
  
“Is it a bad thing?” Cahir asks, taking one last look at her, savouring the view, no doubt.   
  
“Not at all.” She answers truthfully — she owed him that.   
  
Cahir smiles incredibly happily at her, the entire movement lighting up his features and causing his eyes to give a little sparkle, “I’ll see you later.”   
  
“Later,” Ciri agrees as he ducks back out of the door, leaving a small gap in it as she had.   
  
Ciri sets the half-eaten pancakes aside, balancing them on the sink as she slides back down into the soapy foam, her mind spinning with thoughts of him and Mistle again.   
  


* * *

It’s practically night when she sees Cahir for more than a brief minute or two again; the bar is in full swing, more patrons than the previous night and different types of music blasting from each corner.   
  
Ciri nurses a cocktail at the bar as Cahir slides next to her.   
  
“Hello, stranger.” He murmurs towards Ciri and then catches sight of Milva’s raised brow at the opposite side of the bar, “Maria.”   
  
“Cahir.” Milva rolls her eyes, unamused and briefly disappears to get him a drink no doubt. 

“You’ve got paint on your eyebrow still.” Ciri notes aloud and Cahir’s fingers instantly go to his right eyebrow, “No, the other one.”   
  
He misses it completely again and she sighs, raising her hand to his head and rubbing off the green mark with her thumb.   
  
“Thank you.” Cahir presses a kiss to her nose to say his thank you properly and Ciri can’t help but scrunch her nose as he does — not used to such cute displays of affection.   
  
“Do you ever put one another down?” Milva asks as she makes her grand entrance, placing a pint of something alcoholic in front of Cahir.   
  
“Hey!” Cahir takes a hearty swig before he resumes, “She was getting paint off my head which, I might add, is there because of you.”   
  
“And? I’d do it again.” Milva shrugs, making Cahir chuckle as he now sips delicately at the pint, “Have you sorted yourselves out for tomorrow yet?”   
  
“What do you mean?” Ciri asks, leaning forward to hear her better over the thumping of the music.   
  
“You know, ready to be on the road.” Milva shoots her a confused look but doesn’t elaborate with Cahir sitting there.   
  
“Why wouldn’t we be?” Cahir interrupts her thoughts, wiping foam from his top lip with the back of his sleeve.   
  
“I know what you’re like.” She jabs her finger into the middle of his chest, almost knocking him off his stool, “Air in tyres? Enough gas?”   
  
“Yes and yes.” He steps off his stool, almost losing his footing but they discreetly ignore it, “Just popping to the toilet.”   
  
Milva’s doing her usual routine of cleaning glasses when she speaks, “So, what’s happening when he takes you home?”   
  
“You’re not going to be hostile, are you?” Ciri runs her hands through her hair before finishing her cocktail in two large gulps.   
  
“‘I won’t be hostile.” Milva puts the glass down and immediately starts on another, “You’re a nice girl, Ciri. Attractive, witty. Unfortunately, you’re almost certainly his type.”   
  
“Is that a reference to our joint hair colour?”   
  
Milva snorts, “Gods, no.”   
  
“Then what?” Ciri rests an elbow on the bar so they don’t have to talk as loud, “I was under the assumption that everyone here knew what was going to happen, eventually.”   
  
“Cahir is — ” Milva shrugs her shoulders, struggling to find words, “Easily besotted. Especially to women who blow into his life like a hurricane only to tear everything apart on their way out. Anyone who’s known him for more than ten minutes knows that. I reckon you do, too.”   
  
“I do.” Ciri feels her shoulders sag and there’s only one person to blame, the same person who is always to blame, “I don’t know what to do, Milva.” 

“My advice?” Milva leans closer now; she smells of various fruits and a slight fragrance of mint beneath that, “Do it as gently as possible.”

“How much gentler can I be?” She relishes in the feeling of having someone to talk to; someone slightly older and a tad wiser, “He has an obligation and I—I don’t think what happened to me has properly sunk in.” 

“No, you’re right.” Milva’s agreement comes as a small shock, “He’s too noble to think of deserting for you. But, don’t promise to keep in touch if you’re not going to. And for fuck’s sake, don’t use him as a booty call or whatever shit people your age do.” 

“I wouldn’t do that.” Ciri has to break away from Milva’s gaze, “He’s sweet, Milva and I enjoy his company but I’m not ready.” 

“Tell him that.” 

Ciri shakes her head, “I can’t. I try and then it fades because he looks at me like—“

“I know.” Milva presses her hand against Ciri’s — she wonders what she went through to be so gruff on the outside but completely different in, “I see it.” 

“Whatever happens and you see him after, don’t think bad of me.” 

Milva frowns, opening her mouth—

“What are you two talking about?” Cahir chirps inquisitively as he slips back into the stool next to her. 

“I was just asking where the hell you could have got to.” Ciri answers quickly and Milva seems relieved, going back to pulling a pint for another patron who slid some coins over to her.

“For a smoke, no doubt.” She snarks, sliding the glass to the patron and collecting her coin. 

“For a smoke.” Cahir confirms with a nod of his head, “Hey, you should see this car outside.”

Ciri and Milva both audibly groan. 

“We don’t care.” Milva takes the words straight from Ciri’s mouth, except she is less polite about it than she would have been.

“Hush,” Cahir dismisses her with a wave of his hand, “It’s really something.” 

“Go on then,” It becomes clear to Ciri that he wasn’t going to stop until someone asked, “What is it?”

The smile that lights up his face made it worth it.

“It’s bright red — like really red.” She has to laugh at the way he exaggerates the really, “Lamborghini, I think?” 

“A cherry red?” Ciri can feel her blood starting to freeze up, “Classic?” 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s it!” Cahir casts a frown at her, “Have you seen it?”

“Look at her, you fucking idiot.” Milva hits his arm with her dishcloth, “Of course she’s seen it.” 

“I gotta go—” Ciri starts to leave but Cahir rests his hand atop hers, keeping her in place.

“Is that a good idea?” There’s no malice in his words, no hint of him wanting her to stay as Mistle had wanted, just that ever-present concern. 

“If she’s here…” Ciri grabs his hand instead and squeezes it, letting him know she’s okay, “If I don’t confront her or know what’s happened to her, how am I supposed to move on?”   
  
“Alright,” He still seems impossibly weary, “If you’re not back in—”   
  
“Come out in five.” Ciri takes a glance at Milva, “Both of you.”   
  
“Alright, Ciri.” Milva sends her a curt nod and Ciri squeezes Cahir’s hand again before she slips off the stool.   
  
It feels like it takes her a century to make her way to the double doors and the difference in the air outside makes her shiver.   
  
“Well, well.” Kayleigh snarls from the hood of the Lamborghini, looking as ugly as she remembers, “Looks like the cat dragged a rat in.”   
  
“Where’s Mistle?” She tries to keep her voice unwavering, not meek like it had been towards the end — she was better than that.   
  
“Where do you think?” It’s Asse who answers, smoking in the front seat with his legs hanging out of the window, still wearing that awful studded jacket he stole, “She got lifted, no thanks to you.”   
  
Relief washes over her, “She deserves to be in there.”   
  
“Don’t we all?” Ciri can just make out the points of Iskra’s face hidden in the dark of the back seat. No doubt Giselher was in there with her, too. To think she had thought they were better than her family once and now, she feels sick just looking at them. 

“She drugged me, abused me.” She knows the argument is pointless but she tries anyway.   
  
“Haven’t you learned yet, baby?” Kayleigh hops off the car, flicking his half-used cigarette on to the hood of someone else’s car, “That’s the way life goes. Big fucks small and then small fucks something smaller.”   
  
“That’s the way your life goes.” The smug smirk briefly wipes off Kayleigh’s face leaving her feeling just a little proud of herself, “Not mine, not anymore.”   
  
“You’ll come crawling back.” Asse answers, still puffing away — Iskra always said it would kill him one day. Ciri hopes it’ll come sooner rather than later. “People like you always do.”   
  
“I don’t need you anymore.” She folds her arms over her chest, either the cold or the horrible memories sending a rapid shiver down her spine, “I’ve got family, friends.”   
  
“You mean your boyfriend in there?” Kayleigh starts arguing again as Ciri attempts to head back inside, “Or is it your girlfriend?”   
  
“Neither.” Her words are all venom, “Not like it’s any of your business now anyway.”   
  
“Hey!” He’s over to her before she even realises it and grabs her arm so tightly her skin turns red where his nails dig in, “You don’t talk to us like that.”   
  
“Get off me before I — ” She tries to wrench her arm back but fails — he’s stronger than she remembers.   
  
“Before what?” He snarls and leans closer, his breath is stale and it almost makes her gag, “Scream? You’re good at that.”   
  
“Hey, fuck off.” Cahir’s voice hits her ears before she notices Kayleigh stumbling back.   
  
“Oh, here he is!” Kayleigh gets louder, no doubt trying to attract attention. Ciri’s pulled backwards which causes her to panic but it’s only Milva’s firm, comforting grip on her shoulders, “You paying her or what?”   
  
“Listen — ” Cahir begins but Kayleigh cuts him off, still ranting.   
  
“She gives it for free, you know? Don’t waste your money.” He’s still smirking in Cahir’s direction. Ciri steps forward to gather Cahir, take him away from those people who do nothing but corrupt but Milva holds her gently, a reminder that she should let what was going to happen come to pass, “Well, she didn’t even give Mistle freebies. Mistle got to take what she want — ”   
  
Ciri hears the crack before she sees it; Kayleigh on his ass, clutching his nose that has a stream of blood coming from it and down his arm. She tries to surge forward but Milva grabs her and keeps her from the fray. 

It was wise to keep her out of harm’s way with her history but Gods, she wishes she could kick ten bells of shit out of Kayleigh herself. It would only lead to more trouble but it’d be worth it. 

“What the fuck was that for?” Kayleigh spits blood near Cahir’s feet as he struggles to stand; nobody from the car comes to his aid and Ciri hears the engine roar to life.

“You know what the fuck it was for.” Cahir’s fist is clenched at his side and even from near the doors, Ciri can see it looks sore. 

“I’d get in the car if I were you,” Ciri adds, earning her a glare from Iskra. 

Kayleigh reluctantly follows the advice, still clutching his nose as he enters the car.

“And don’t come back.” Milva warns over the sound of the tyres as Asse stops the car mid-reverse to listen, “Or you’ll get ten times worse than that.” 

They screech off and Ciri breathes for what feels like the first time since she set foot outside, ribs aching and sore. Cahir’s over in an instant, one hand on her arm and the other against Milva’s. 

“Are you alright?” He asks gently, ducking down just a little to see her better.

“I think so…” She wriggles her nose which stings from holding back tears that won’t fall as much as she wants them to, “I’m gonna go to the room if that’s okay.” 

Milva squeezes her ever so slightly, it’s a move that reminds her of Yennefer, “Of course it is.” 

“Thank you,” She’s not sure who she’s talking to, “For sorting them out.” 

“He deserved it.” Cahir’s voice is gruff, anger still clouding his vision. 

“Now’s not the time,” Milva gently guides Ciri in the direction of the double doors, “Get yourself comfortable, Ciri. I’ll make sure he’s alright.” 

“Thank you.” She says again with a little nod, in a haze as she pushes through the doors and into the bar, expertly dodging drunks and dancers. 

Ciri turns the lights off in the room the moment she’s in it and dives beneath the scratchy sheets; under the sheets was always her favourite place to go when she needed a good cry, even when she was seven years old and throwing tantrums because Geralt allowed her to be unruly.   
  
She wants to cry, to feel the hot tears streaming down her cheeks but no matter how much she tries to force them, they just won’t appear. They must have all been used up the night she met Cahir, walking down the desert roads, sobbing and heaving.   
  
It feels like another week has passed before the door clicking shut makes her jerk from her half-asleep state. Ciri shuffles up the bed, pulling the covers down and resting her head on the pillows instead.   
  
The bed dips as Cahir gets in and he gently rests a hand on her arm before he removes it just as quick. Ciri debates her actions for a moment and then turns over to face him in the dark; his hand reaches for hers and she links their fingers together despite feeling him wince.   
  
“You’re hurt.” She can’t see his hand properly but he winces again as she runs her thumb against his knuckles. They don’t feel broken but she thinks there might be a cut on one of them.   
  
“It’s nothing,” He keeps his voice low, almost a whisper, “Milva put some ice on them. I’ll be fine.”   
  
“You shouldn’t have done it.” Ciri presses a soft kiss against his broken skin, “You could have got into trouble.”   
  
Cahir scoffs somewhat bitterly, “What are they going to do? Discharge me? I’d be glad to see the back of it.”   
  
“You have a life. You shouldn’t ruin it for me, defending my honour or whatever the hell you were doing.” Ciri tries to keep her voice the same as always; she wasn’t truly angry, after all. Just concerned.   
  
“I wanted to.” He shuffles closer, she can feel his breath tingling the tip of her nose now, “Enough about me. How are _you_ holding up?”   
  
“I don’t know.” Her answer is honest, like it always was with him, “I feel different.”   
  
“Bad different or good different?” Cahir grumbles slightly as he moves to lie on his back. Ciri shuffles closer to rest her head on his chest, his arm instantly wrapping around her; she felt warm and safe, as she always did when he was around.   
  
“I don’t know yet.” He’s so impossibly warm she can’t help but curl further into him, entwining their legs beneath the sheets, “Good, I think.”   
  
“That’s good.” She can feel the gentle nod of his head.   
  
“I just wonder,” Ciri sighs gently whilst he rubs his hand up and down her back, soothing as if that could take away all her pain — she wishes it would, “What happens now?”   
  
“Now,” Cahir pauses to press a kiss to the top of her head, “You heal.” 

She looks up at him after he’s finished but all she manages to see is the bottom of his chin.   
  
It amazes her each time how someone can seemingly be a never-ending well of optimism. How he can be so different from her and yet, understand her so perfectly. It makes her hurt and heal at the same time.   
  
“Heal…” She repeats, making it her new mantra.   
  
Cahir doesn’t say anything else but kisses her head again before his breathing starts to slow. Ciri snuggles herself closer, enjoying his warmth and presence for the fleeting time they have left.   
  
_Heal_ , she promises herself. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is Peak Dad and we love him lots

Staring up at the stars for the last forty minutes was getting her nowhere. Neither was tossing and turning or repeatedly checking the phone — why would Yennefer call in the middle of the night? 

She was never a particularly restless sleeper, she could sleep like a log when she was as tired as this. It seemed like being only a few hours drive from officially arriving home was racing through her mind too much. 

Cahir’s been asleep since he turned off the engine at the Kaedweni roadside hours ago. He turns over to face her the instant she starts thinking about him again and throws an arm around her waist. 

It strikes her as funny that, in all her past relationships, the sleeping so tightly knitted together put her off and suffocated her but with Cahir, she enjoyed every touch of his. 

His face looks entirely different in the dark, she finds. He didn’t look particularly old, nor did he often voice his concerns and worries aloud, if at all, but he looked so unburdened and young. 

Everyone is running from something echoes in her head as she brushes the stray curls from his forehead whilst he sleeps. It's then she finally realises, she'll run from him too. She  _ is _ running from him. 

He blinks awake as she burrows further down in the sheets, “What time is it?”

“About three?” She chuckles lightly at the grogginess in his voice and rests her hand gently on his cheek briefly, “Go back to sleep.” 

“You can’t sleep?” He murmurs once she moves her hand away and rests his head in the crook between her neck and shoulder, “What are you thinking about?”

“How do you know I’m thinking?” She moves her hand to rest on his arm, the one that’s still wrapped around her waist.

“Isn’t that what everyone does when they can’t sleep?” Cahir kisses the bare skin of her shoulder that pokes out of the hoodie she’s wearing, “I do.” 

“I suppose I’m thinking about what’s going to happen later.” She confides, sighing almost as if she was disappointed with herself for doing so, “I know everything that has gone on is going to hit me like a train.”   
  
“Why do you think that?” His voice is gentle and his eyes still closed, “You’re pretty formidable. I think you can beat anything if you try.”    
  
“You don’t know me properly.”    
  
She feels his head shift against her shoulder and dares herself to look at him.    
  
“I think I do.” He’s looking at her now and her head swims as she connects their gazes, “That’s why you’re awake. Because of me, isn’t it?”    
  
“How did you guess?” She asks, trying to ignore her bitter tone, “It’s been good, you’ve been good but I don’t know how to say goo—”    
  
“It doesn’t have to be forever.” He’s almost pleading and it hurts her more than she thought, “We can still talk, I’ll get a new phone when I get home. We can still talk.”    
  
His repetition almost causes her to lose any resolve she still had left to crumble.    
  
“Talk and be friends?” She breaks their line of sight, choosing to instead look up at the stars again.    
  
“Whatever you want from me.” His breath is hot on her shoulder, “I only have two years of service left.”    
  
“I’m not going to be your military wife, Cahir.” She stops him before anything else can seep out his mouth, “I saw what it did to Yennefer almost my entire life. Waiting by the phone, panicking when a number that I don’t recognise comes, thinking this is the one that tells me you’re dead. I won’t do it.”    
  
“Ciri,” He rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up with his elbows, “I would never ask that of you.”    
  
“What would you ask, then?” They sigh at the same time, his breath leaving a patch of goosebumps to her tingling skin, “What do you want after this?”    
  
“I don’t know,” He shrugs his shoulders like his entire world is resting on them, “I’d like to stay in touch with you.”    
  
Ciri sighs, folding her hands across her stomach, “You think that would work out? For you? For me?”    
  
“You never know if you don’t try.” He says it with wisdom beyond his years and with such conviction and longing that it makes everything impossibly harder.    
  
She scoffs automatically.

“That’s so cheesy, Cahir.”    
  
“Right...” He sighs again and she repeats to herself that it’s for the best, “I’d take care of you, you know?”    
  
“I don’t need to be taken care of. I can fend for myself.” She can feel her hackles rising and her shields that she wasn’t sure still existed rolling up, “Don’t think you’re doing me a favour.”    
  
“Don’t be like that.” He takes the burden of his weight off his elbows and rolls into a position similar to hers, except he’s looking at her instead of the sunroof, “If my affection bothers you—”    
  
“It doesn’t bother me.” Ciri refuses to look at him too directly, “I just can’t give you what you want.”    
  
“What I want,” His hand finds hers underneath the sheets and he entwines their fingers together, “Is for you to be happy.” 

“How come?” She faces him now, brows knitted together.    
  
“I care about you.” He shrugs once more, “I think you’re— I don’t know, I can’t put it into words.”    
  
“I admire your honesty. Truly.” Cahir reaches out to tuck that cursed strand of hair behind her ear and she can’t help but shuffle closer so their noses brush, “I wish I could be better for you. Give you what you deserve.”    
  
He shakes his head firmer than he ever had, “Not for me. Be better for you.”    
  
“If that’s possible…” She’s wallowing and she knows it but he’s always read her so well, always been so easy to confide in.    
  
“It will be if you let it.” He cups her cheek, thumb moving to and fro across her skin, tingling.    
  
“I hope you find someone, Cahir.” Her throat feels raw and she has to swallow thickly for the remaining words to come out, “You deserve someone who’ll give you what you want and deserve.”    
  
“I don’t want anything from them.”    
  
Ciri catches the double meaning of his words but she can’t bring herself to say anything — she doesn’t know what to say, to be precise. She leans closer and responds in the only way she knows how.    
  
Cahir is impossibly gentle, even more than normal as she presses her lips against his. She takes her time to savour the moment, the feelings and the fluttering in her chest. 

His lips were warm and soft and he parts his lips for her, the action alone making her dizzy. 

Ciri parts regretfully and whispers against his lips, “Later.”

He leans up to press a kiss against her forehead, “Later.” 

She burrows back down in the warmth of the bedsheets and rests her head on his chest. 

Sleep finally comes.

* * *

“Good morning,” Cahir greets her in his usual way as she climbs into the passenger seat, landing in it with a significant thump, “You got everything in your bag?”    
  
“Yeah,” She triples checks to be entirely sure and also conveniently pops her last breath mint into her mouth, “How far off are we?”    
  
Ciri thinks she can make an estimated guess, judging by the rows of houses and apartment buildings just appearing on the horizon but she’d rather leave it to the expert.    
  
“Um, maybe about twenty minutes to a half-hour?” He shrugs, indicating to take a turn, “I don’t really know the built-up areas.”    
  
She takes a peer out of her window to take another guess, “Yeah, you’re going the right way.”    
  
“That’s good to know.”    
  
Cahir’s reply is simple and he keeps his eyes on the road which allows her to look at him — she really shouldn’t but she can’t help herself. His stubble has grown even more in the last couple of days and she’s a little in love with how it looks on him. 

She should reach out, say something that would mean something to either of them…

The phone buzzes in her bag, pulling her from her pitiful thoughts. It takes her a solid minute of fumbling before she finds it and presses it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” Yennefer’s voice still sounds groggy — she didn’t like being up before mid-afternoon on a weekend, “How far out are you?” 

“About ten to fifteen minutes?” She makes sure to add the uncertainty in her voice.

“Oh, he does drive fast.” 

“Yeah,” Ciri laughs a little, “We got pretty close last night but he looked tired so I told him to pull over.” 

“Wise decision.” Yennefer hums and Ciri can hear the smirk in her words as she lowers her voice to say, “Are you sure it was just tiredness that made you pull over?” 

“I’m positively sure, Yennefer.” 

“If you say so.” She answers, Ciri desperately wanting to say goodbye already, “Is Cahir going to stay awhile?”

“I don’t know?” Ciri replies, feeling like the number one participant in Yennefer’s scheming, “I can’t talk.” 

“Alright,” Yennefer sounds extremely sceptical, “I’ll come out as soon as I see the van. What colour is it?”    
  
“Top is silver,” Ciri explains, taking a second to remember if she’s correct, “The rest of the paintwork is black.”    
  
“Okay,” Yennefer pauses as if taking a mental note, “I’ll see you soon.”   
  
“Alright, we won’t be long.” She answers before putting the phone down and slipping it back into her bag.   


Cahir doesn’t say anything and Ciri decides she isn’t about to force him to talk to her either.    
  
It was for the best.    
  
They travel down the side streets in relative silence and only the occasional left or right to let him know which direction her home was.    
  
It’s about as boring and half-dead as Ciri remembers, rows and rows of green grass and white picket fences — it’ll never change, she knows that but it was her home and she was glad to be back. The van turns down a small side street, houses becoming few and far between.    
  
“It’s your next left.” Ciri points out, ignoring the clench of her stomach as she does.    
  
“Okay,” He doesn’t say anything back apart from what was necessary and just focuses on indicating and turning the corner into the small cul de sac where she lived, “Which driveway?”    
  
“The house at the very end.”    
  
“Oh shit,” He chuckles a little awkwardly, “I didn’t realise your house was so huge.”   
  
In Ciri’s opinion, it wasn’t but from this angle, she could see why he thought that. It was more intimidating than large, with its older looking architecture and black bricks.    
  
“Really?” She raises a brow, laughing along with him, “It’s not even the biggest one down here.”   
  
“It’s bigger than most I’ve lived in.” He pulls into their driveway that’s complete with automatic gates, “And none of them certainly had those.”    
  
“You’ve lived in at least one big house, then?” Ciri asks, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she sees the curtains of their living room twitch.    
  
“Yeah, a long time ago but my dad lost his job and then the house…” Cahir trails off before he shrugs himself out of the memory and turns the car engine off, “When I visit, I share a room with Dheran which...is a nightmare.”   
  
“I bet nightmare is an understatement.” She finds herself laughing again, glad that the air is clear of whatever was lingering there just a few moments ago, “At least you have your own when you live with Regis.”    
  
“Oh and I’ve never been happier about that.” Cahir takes a quick swig of some water he had sitting in his cup holder, “Me and Angoulĕme sharing a room? Even worse.”    
  
Ciri snorts and grabs her bag, heaving it onto her knee, “Are you getting out?”    
  
“I was just going to head off.” He looks at her as she takes off her seatbelt and she returns the look, except with an expression that could only be described as unimpressed.   
  
“Come on,” She sighs, “You can have a coffee or something. You haven’t eaten yet today.”    
  
“Alright,” He’s never taken much convincing, “I’ll let you head out first.”    
  
“Okay,” Ciri takes a fleeting moment to grab his hand and give it a light squeeze, “Thank you.”    
  
Ciri’s out of the car and almost instantly, Yen’s arms are around her shoulders and hugging tightly. She isn’t about to play awkward; she rests her arms against Yennefer’s side and buries her face into her shoulders, inhaling her familiar scent that she missed more than she thought.    
  
“I’m so glad you're home.” Yennefer murmurs, hugging tighter.    
  
“Me too,” she replies, swallowing thickly when she feels the addition of Geralt’s arms around her, “I missed both of you. Madly.”    
  
Yennefer releases Ciri from her tight embrace; Geralt almost instantly takes up her spot, squeezing Ciri tightly like he used to.    
  
“Missed you, kid.”    
  
“I missed you, too.” Ciri catches Yennefer walking towards Cahir and momentarily panics but Geralt’s squeezing her tighter and she finds it hard to concentrate on anything other than the pain in her ribs, “I can’t believe you ran off whilst I was gone.”    
  
Geralt sighs, “I’m an idiot.”    
  
“Yes,” Ciri laughs, wriggling from his embrace, “But we all knew that already.”    
  
“And him?” Geralt gestures over to Cahir with a jut of his chin, “He treat you okay?”    
  
“What do you think?” She nudges his arm, now crossed firmly across his chest —an ultimate concerned father stance, “He’s one of your friends. “   
  
Geralt gets that sour look on his face, “Friend is a word for it.”    
  
“Comrade, then?”    
  
He grunts which by Geralt’s terms is considered a reply of agreement.    
  
Ciri discreetly walks back to Yennefer’s side, catching on the back end of their conversation — she didn’t fully understand why Yennefer was the one she was most worried about, perhaps because she was wiser than Geralt and no doubt had every idea what happened whilst they were on the road.    
  
She usually called it women’s intuition.    
  
Milva had it too. 

“It was nothing,” She hears Cahir say, words earnest, “I was practically heading into this direction anyway.”    
  
“The kindness of strangers is still far too rare in this world.” Yennefer remarks, tone cool and calm, hinting at absolutely nothing, “Though, I can’t say you are.”    
  
“Right,” Cahir nods with a little, awkward laugh, edging closer to his van, “It is nice to see you again, Geralt, of course.”    
  
“Likewise.” Geralt replies, offering a small wave of his hand.    
  
Ciri is dying on the inside at the awkwardness and she imagines Cahir is too.    
  
“I really should be going.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking at his feet before he quickly turns to look at Ciri, then back to Yennefer, “You’re welcome. Again.”    
  
“Nonsense,” Yennefer begins, causing another panic to rise in Ciri’s veins, “You’re welcome to stay for a hot meal, make use of some hot water, too.”    
  
Yennefer takes a glance at both Ciri and Geralt; Ciri is trying to tell her via her eyes alone that she definitely doesn’t want that — Geralt is doing the same along with also spluttering quietly under his breath with a million and one excuses on why it was a bad idea.    
  
Cahir catches her glance, she knows he does judging by the expression on his face that stings and cuts her deeply — far more than she would have thought. 

Guilty was an understatement.    
  
“Thank you for the kindness, ma’am, but it’d be best if I—”   
  
“Cahir,” Ciri begins, quickly wetting her lips as if that would stop the guilt eating away at her, “It’s alright.”    
  
“It is?” Geralt adds.    
  
“How is hot, running water not appealing to you right now?” She half chuckles as she walks over to him, briefly resting her hand on his shoulder; she removes it when she can feel Geralt staring at the back of both their heads, “Van living is not easy.”    
  
“Ciri—”   
  
“I don’t mind,” He’s looking at her, examining her expression that has now changed into something softer despite her not forcing it, “Honestly.”    
  
“Then it’s settled.” Yennefer finishes their conversation, offering her arm to Ciri who takes it gladly.    
  
“Thank you, you didn’t have to—” Geralt cuts Cahir off by slapping his arm around his former comrade’s shoulders.    
  
“It’ll give us some time to catch up, hey?” He practically growls it in Cahir’s ear, all fake gruffness that he reserved only for Ciri’s friends or, obviously, prospective boyfriends.    
  
“Of course,” Cahir’s eyes light up, full of memories and present plans, “I’ve somewhat missed your sourness.”    
  
“Evidently,” Yennefer chirps in, “You haven’t spent enough time with him to be able to miss it.”    
  
“Hey,” Geralt warns her gently, “I thought my sourness had mellowed out with old age.”    
  
“So now he admits he’s old,” Cahir adds before he yelps, Geralt grabbing his shoulders tighter.    
  
Ciri’s uncertainty begins to disappear by the second; feeling welcome back at home made everything fade to the back — only her family mattered now and only they would. No more running, no more following blindly, no more stupid rebellions.    
  
“Geralt seems to be getting better with his leg.” Ciri squeezes Yennefer’s arm as they both watch Cahir and Geralt disappear off, no doubt to Geralt’s man cave otherwise formerly known as the converted garage.    
  
“It seems that way.” Yen agrees, directing Ciri towards the front steps of their home, “He still complains about the pain every so often.”    
  
“He does?” She steps in the front door, hit with the smells that could only be described as home; nothing had changed, it was exactly as she remembered it, “I thought it would have stopped by now.”    
  
“We spoke to his doctor,” Yen holds out her hand and Ciri places her bag into it and watches it get hung up on the hooks beside the door, “They think it may be down to the colder weather here.”    
  
“Oh,” Ciri itches the side of her nose, “How are you supposed to control the weather?”

“Well,” Yen heads into the kitchen and Ciri follows after her, eager to hear what the answer was going to be, “We were discussing, perhaps, moving to Toussaint permanently.”    
  
“Oh.” Ciri finds herself saying again which raises Yennefer’s attention.    
  
“We’re not going to discuss it right now, of course.” She is back over to Ciri’s side in an instant, hands resting on her arms, rubbing comfortingly, “We’ll wait until you get settled and you feel well enough.”    
  
She nods, “Thank you for...not pressuring me to confess everything.”    
  
“Never, Ciri.” Yen presses a kiss to the top of her head quickly, “Though, I do wish to know everything about Cahir eventually.”    
  
“Well, there’s a lot,” Ciri snorts and decides she won’t tell Yennefer every sordid detail, naturally, “I’m gonna go give myself a good scrub first.”   
  
“Yes, I think that’s wise.” She nods in agreement, “You smell like a campervan.”    
  
Ciri laughs, “And what does that smell like exactly?”    
  
“Hm,” Yen ponders the question, “Cigarette smoke and cheap beer.”    
  
“Perfect.”    
  
“I missed you,” Yen says and Ciri feels like there is no other choice but to throw her arms around her mother’s shoulders and just hug her.    
  
Tightly.    
  
“I missed you.” Ciri adds, squeezing a little tighter, “You’ve got no idea how much.”    
  
“I think I do,” Yen presses a quick kiss to Ciri’s cheek, “Now, go. Scrub yourself clean. We will all still be here when you get back.”    
  
“Promise?”   


“Promise.”    
  
Ciri doesn’t need to be told a third time.

  
  


* * *

  
  
She didn’t realise just how long she spent scrubbing herself raw in the shower until she came down; Yen is stirring something on the hob, Cahir idly reading a newspaper on the breakfast bar and Geralt still nowhere to be found.    
  
It’s a heartwarming image to see, even if it was not going to last forever.   
  
She wishes it could.    
  
Cahir looks up from his paper and instantly makes eye contact with her, much to her regret. Was that the correct word? She’s all fresh-faced, hair hanging in damp waves and a cursed blue, somewhat fluffy, dressing gown almost folded to her chin.    
  
“Hey,” He clears his throat, gears turning in his head, “You look, uh, clean.”    
  
Yennefer glances at him from over her shoulder. 

Ciri glances at Yennefer who raises a brow at her before going back to both physically and metaphorically, stirring the pot.    
  
“Was that a wayward compliment?” She sniggers largely to herself, going to peer over his shoulder — he still smells like campervan, “What are you reading?”    
  
“Military stuff that made its way to the paper.” He closes the pages containing the article, Ciri only glancing at certain words that fill her with dread, “Nothing particularly interesting.” 

“Right.” She squints at him before peering over at Yennefer, “What’s for dinner?” 

“I hope chilli is alright for you.” She replies, sprinkling some seasoning into the pan.

“Anything other than cheap gas station food would be like a gourmet meal.” Cahir knows exactly how to butter her up, judging by the smile that quickly appears on Yen’s face, “Thank you, Yennefer.” 

“It’s about the only thing she can do without it sticking to the bottom of the pan,” Ciri whispers into Cahir’s ear, “Geralt is normally the chef.” 

“I heard that.” Yennefer calls out.

Cahir just smiles in that way he always does, “Are we okay?” His voice is more hushed than it had been a moment ago. 

“What do you mean?” She replies, brow furrowed as she hops onto the stool next to him. 

“Have I done something to offend you?” The worry and genuine concern etched into his face hurt, “Was it something I said this morning? Because, Ciri, that wasn’t my intent—“ 

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Ciri reassures him, resting her hand atop his, “It’s me just being, well, me.” 

Yennefer fiddles with the hob before she disappears from the kitchen — likely to find Geralt.

Ciri seizes the opportunity to quickly kiss him, pressing an apology from her lips to his. 

“I meant to tell you earlier that you looked beautiful.” Cahir cups her face and rubs their noses together far too cutely, “Beautiful and clean.” 

“And you chickened out in front of Yennefer?” She teases, enjoying the way his nose creases when he laughs.

“Something like that.” He nods briefly, “She’s quite the scary figure.”    
  
“Not at all,” She chuckles, pulling back away from Cahir, “She’s rather nice, once you get to know her.”    
  
“No wicked stepmothers here, then?”    
  
“Not in the slightest.” She agrees, resting a hand on his shoulder as Yennefer makes her entrance, Geralt following behind.    
  
“Dinner’s almost ready.” Yennefer alerts them both, “If you could help.”    
  
Cahir gets up from his seat, “Anything I can do?”    
  
“Sit down and put your feet up.” Geralt’s hand more or less forces Cahir back into his seat; Ciri holds in a chuckle as she gathers the plates and puts them onto the nearby dining table.    
  
“Play nice, Geralt.” Yennefer warns as she places the bowls on the centre of the table so that everyone may help themselves, “Cahir, what do you drink?”    
  
“Um,” He scratches his head as he thinks and makes his way to the table — Ciri still finds it adorable, “Water will do fine.”    
  
“I’ll get it for you,” Ciri adds, quickly getting a glass and filling it with water straight from the tap; an added benefit of living in Kaedwen was the tap water being ice cold nearly all year round.

It only takes her a moment to fill the glass and deliver it back to Cahir, their fingers brushing as he takes it from her hand.    
  
“Thank you.” He murmurs and she idly wonders whether he felt the spark too.    
  
Cahir takes the spare seat at the table as Ciri goes to sit at her usual spot, only to be beaten into by Geralt who smiles at her in that ugly, far-too-proud-of-himself way. It leaves her with no choice but to sit at the same side as Cahir with Yennefer taking her seat beside Geralt.    
  
_Great._

She tries not to make it obvious as she sits beside him. Cahir doesn’t notice if the way he passes her the bowl was anything to go by.    
  
“So,” Geralt begins gruffly, “How was the roadtrip?”    
  
“Fine.” Ciri shrugs her shoulders, picking apart some bread rolls — store-bought, obviously, “I got back in one piece, didn’t I?”    
  
“Well, where did you go?” Geralt seems to direct this question towards Cahir and Ciri decides she’ll let him handle Geralt’s questioning, seeing as that appeared to be his goal in the first place.    
  
“Um,” Cahir pauses to swallow a lump of bread, “Metinna was nice.”    
  
Ciri raises a brow at the same time she catches Yen doing the same in her direction; she decides it’s best to keep her head down and focus on shovelling as much chilli into her mouth as possible.    
  
“Temeria?” Yennefer asks as she was the only person not acting like a starved horse.   
  
“Yeah,” Cahir nods and finishes swallowing, “We met up with Milva.”    
  
“Really?” Geralt seems surprised, “How is she?”    
  
“She’s feisty.” Ciri remarks, earning a snort from both Geralt and Cahir, “What? Why are you laughing?”    
  
“You seemed to get along just fine,” Cahir adds.    
  
“Did you?” Geralt’s tone of surprise continues, “Why?”    
  
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, taking a drink of her water, “She was just nice.”    
  
“That’s the thing, Ciri.” Yennefer finally speaks up, “Most women recognise something in one another that men often overlook.”    
  
“Is that right?” She asks, taking a quick look around the table; Geralt and Cahir are silent which proves Yennefer correct.    
  
“Apparently so,” Yen replies, sending a wink in Ciri’s direction.    
  
“Did you know Milva has a son?” Ciri asks Geralt who shakes his head, signalling for her to continue, “That’s why she had to leave the military.”    
  
“She runs a bar now.” Cahir adds to the conversation, scraping the last remnants of food off his plate, a fast eater as well as a driver, “It suits her.”    
  
“I’ll have to get in touch.” Geralt says as he rubs his leg under the table, “I should have done it sooner.”    
  
Cahir is deadly silent for a while, finishing his water. Ciri wasn’t stupid, she had spent enough time with him the past weeks that she could tell he was holding back, on what exactly, she wasn’t sure. No doubt several things: Geralt, the future and her.    
  
They dissolve into an uneasy silence, the only sound the scraping of cutlery or slurping of water.

“Do you need help with the dishes?” Cahir asks as Yennefer begins to gather the plates.

“You’re a guest.” Ciri finds herself saying, followed by a frown sent in his direction. 

“All the more reason to offer.” He sends her that cheeky smile and something resembling hope fills her chest — she didn’t seem to be on the path to ruin every aspect of their relationship, then. 

“Me and Ciri’ll take care of them.” Geralt interjects, leaving Cahir to discreetly give her a question filled look — she replies with a shrug. 

“I may retire for the night, if that’s okay.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to shrug next. 

“Of course,” Yen finally speaks up, voice betraying nothing, not in front of Geralt, “I’ll show you where the bathroom and spare room are.”

“Thank you.” Cahir stands from his spot, carefully brushing past Ciri, “And thank you for the food, the hospitality, everything.”

“You’re not leaving yet.” Ciri finds herself saying quicker than she can realise. 

Geralt looks over his shoulder at her, up to his elbows in soap suds already. 

“No,” Cahir nods, “But, I’ll still say thank you.” 

Ciri leaves the conversation at that and focuses on gathering a towel, beginning to wipe down the pots and pans Geralt places into the drying rack.

It takes him a while to speak up; he waits until Yen and Cahir are firmly out of view and then the suspicious side-eye glances start.

He has always been like that, thinking Ciri wouldn’t notice his passing looks or acts of small aggressions to friends she brought home.

Were all fathers the same? 

The sanity of their poor daughters. 

“You gonna ever tell me what happened out there?” Geralt’s voice makes her jump a little, the anger in it more potent than she realised. However, she’s thankful it is not directed at her.

“What’s there to say?” 

“Did he hurt you?” Ciri looks at him dumbfounded and Geralt sighs, taking his hands from the water and giving them a shake to dry them off, “He make you pay him back? Did he take adv—“

“No! Gods, no. Never.” She shakes her head almost violently, “He isn’t like that. He—“

“Go on.” 

He still doesn’t sound entirely convinced. 

“He respected me.” Ciri sighs shakily, “It was Mistle w-who—“

“Hey,” His arms around her in an instant; strong and solid and safe — there was no hug like the ones that belonged to Geralt, “You don’t need to tell me anything until you’re ready.”

“I don’t think I ever will.”

She feels his lips brush the top of her head and she presses her face into his chest even more. 

“That’s alright,” Geralt’s voice isn’t filled with so much anger now, just care, “Sometimes talking about our feelings isn’t easy. I would know.”

Ciri finds herself chuckling, wiping a tear from her cheek.

“You would know.” 

“I think it’s best if you don’t tell me.” He says, much to her surprise, “Because if you do, I’m liable to find where she lives and rip her fucking head off. Or hire someone to do it.” 

“She’s in jail.” Geralt’s somewhat violent nature has never bothered her and it bothers her even less now, “We bumped into Kayleigh.”

“We?” 

She nods, “Cahir punched him. Broke his nose, by the sound of it.” 

“Huh,” Geralt snorts, “My respect for him just went up a little more.”    
  
“Please,” Ciri rolls her eyes and makes her way back to the drying rack, drying off the cutlery, “Anyone can tell you like him deep down.”    
  
“I do,” Geralt admits, “He was a good kid out there.”    
  
“He’s a good person.” Ciri finds herself agreeing — if she couldn’t talk and be honest with Geralt then she would never be honest with anyone, “I’m pretty sure I knew as soon I got into his van.”    
  
“Some people just have that vibe about them, I guess.” He pulls the plug out of the sink and places the last dish into the drying rack. Geralt being Geralt dries his hands on the legs of his jeans instead of a towel.    
  
“Like you.” She nudges his ribs, earning a grunt and one of those shy smiles that didn’t happen very often.    
  
“Hey, don’t try and change the subject.” He nudges her back though his nudges are still almost enough to knock her over, “What happened out there?”    
  
“What? Nothing.”    
  
“I’m not as stupid as I look, you know.” Geralt always knew how to coax things out of her: whether that be where she had hidden her stash of chocolates or how many people she pushed over in the schoolyard, he always knew. “You get it from me.”    
  
“Get what?” She’s not sure how long this dumb charade can continue for. It’s not like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about but she’s afraid.    
  
“You know what.”    
  
And he’s got her.    
  
“I’m not going to dish out details on my relationship with Cahir.” Ciri chuckles a little at his audacity as she reaches up to put the last plate away, “Especially to you.”   
  
“And what makes you think I don’t like a good gossip?” Geralt looks over his shoulder as Yennefer comes back from being upstairs and immediately sits on the sofa — gracefully, of course.    
  
“Because when it’s people gossiping besides me and Yennefer, you hate it.” She answers back, “So what’s the difference now?”    
  
“I wanna know if he’s your boyfriend.”    
  
Ciri hears Yennefer chuckle to herself over on the sofa and attempts to find some words that were not expletives.    
  
“I— Well—” She splutters, throwing the drying towel onto the nearby counter, “I can’t believe you asked me flat out like that.”   
  
Geralt snorts, “Would you prefer I beat around the bush?”    
  
“The answer is no. To both of your questions.”    
  
“I thought so.” Geralt leans against the breakfast bar and gently taps the vacant spot next to him, “You’re not ready. Whatever happened with Mistle…”   
  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She can hear her voice getting louder, regret following after the anger, “Sorry.”    
  
“It’s okay.” Geralt promises as she takes up the spot next to him, “Look, I’m not good at this—”    
  
“You’re doing fine.” Ciri runs a hand down her face, “It’s me, it’s always me.”    
  
“If you don’t know then you don’t know.” He shrugs which doesn’t make her feel any better, “But, pushing people away is never a good idea.”   
  
“Coming from the expert, is it?” Yen calls out, betraying her secret listening that wasn’t much of a secret at all.    
  
“Private conversation, Yennefer.” Ciri retorts and Yen raises her hands in surrender.    
  
“If you like his company,” Geralt continues, disregarding the interruption, “Don’t fuck it up forever.”    
  
“I don’t think I know how to do that.” She answers honestly, always did and always will when it comes to Geralt. Years ago, she would say it was slightly odd to call her adoptive father her best friend but in some ways, he was. 

“Trying is usually the easiest method.”   
  
“Gods, now you sound like Cahir.” Ciri rolls her eyes, elbowing Geralt in the ribs as she moves out the way, fearing a nudge — or worse, a tickle — in return.    
  
“We spent almost a year together, trekking through mountains.” He laughs as he speaks, heading into the living room to take his usual spot by Yen, “You think he got all that wisdom from himself?”    
  
“Let me guess,” Yennefer drawls, instantly putting her legs across Geralt’s lap once he’s sat, “He learnt it all from you.”    
  
“How did you know?”    
  
His response earns him a lighthearted slap on the arm.

Ciri has missed this, she realises. Just the simplicity of being home, in a place she recognises and within walls where she knows she will always be safe. 

Wherever Geralt or Yennefer are, she knows she’ll be safe.

“Hey,” She gets their attention, “I think I’m going to head on up, too.”

“You sure?” Geralt asks and performs the miraculous task of turning his attention away from the TV.

“I’m exhausted.” She tries to laugh it off, “And I want to relax in my own room, sleep in my own bed.” 

“Alright, Ciri.” Yennefer, forever understanding, holds her arm out for a quick hug as Ciri walks past.

“Goodnight.” She murmurs into Yen’s shoulder before moving onto Geralt whose attention was back on the TV, “Goodnight, old man.”

“Hey.” He warns as Ciri wraps her arms around his shoulders and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“And thank you.”

Geralt doesn’t reply, instead offering to show her his affection by squeezing her hand. 

Ciri detangles herself and heads upstairs as quickly as she can. There’s no sign of sound coming from the spare room which Cahir was inhabiting, but judging by the dim light coming from beneath the door, he was still as wide awake as she is. 

Quietly as she can muster, Ciri heads into her room, discarding her dressing gown over the office chair and partially over her desk that  _ still _ needed tidying. 

She then quickly changes into a more acceptable, clean looking baseball shirt and shorts before she heads back into the corridor. 

Creeping may be a more appropriate word.

Ciri gently taps Cahir’s door: once, twice and a third time before he answers.

“Hey,” His eyes pour over her like they always have; she wonders if he was looking for imperfections but she’s not entirely sure that was in his nature, “Everything okay? Did I leave something on in the bathroom?”    
  
“No,” Her sigh of relief comes out as more of a chuckle, “I was just wondering if you wanted to, um, come to my room, instead.”    
  
The frown that crosses his face makes her snort — she would have laughed, if not for someone downstairs turning the TV down to attempt to be an earwig.    
  
“Your parents are downstairs.”    
  
“I don’t mean like that.” His frown disappears and he appears somewhat relieved, “I mean to just hang out. Like normal people.”    
  
She looks at him as he thinks over her proposition and wonders what has changed; he still looks, somehow, more attractive when his hair is wet and pushed back from his forehead, his eyes are still that impossible blue.    
  
It takes her another couple of seconds to realise the blonde tips from his hair are completely gone. As much as she thinks they didn’t suit him, a part of her is going to miss them and having something to tease him mercilessly over.    
  
“Okay,” Cahir still seems somewhat hesitant and she worries again that she’s already pushed him too far away, “Let me just gather my things.”    
  
Cahir disappears back in the door for a few moments before appearing again, sliding past her to get into the corridor. He shuts the door quietly which makes her think this isn’t his first time sneaking around when there are parents downstairs. 

As quietly as possible, Ciri leads him back to her room, always mindful of the flooring panels she knew creaked the loudest. She allows him to slip in first before closing the door behind them very gently.    
  
Cahir dumps his clothes on the floor and, unfortunately, makes his way to the board hung up above her desk that was filled with photos.    
  
“Oh, don’t look at those.” She finds herself saying as she sits on the bed, switching her TV set on and flicking to a music channel which she keeps on the lowest volume.    
  
“Am I going to find embarrassing things?” He asks, bending his knees so he can see a little better before he picks one off to look at it more clearly.    
  
“So many embarrassing things.” Ciri agrees though she can’t help smiling as he smiles to himself at the photo, “Which one is it?”    
  
“Cheerleading?”    
  
“Lasted about a week.” She shrugs, getting off her bed to go and stand behind him, gently resting her palm on his back; he’s dressed down similar to her, a sleeveless vest and shorts to sleep in. His skin has never been warmer against her own.    
  
“Do you still have the outfit?” He asks, looking at her over his shoulder with that cheeky smirk lighting up his features.   


“Pervert.” Ciri nudges him with her hip as his attention goes back to the photo board, “Netball wasn’t my favourite thing either.”    
  
Cahir hums with a small nod as he looks over the photo of her in the gym clothes, holding a small trophy — Cerys had asked her to join the team and she could never say no to her. She reminds herself to get back in touch with her someday soon.    
  
“And a black belt?” He grips another photo delicately, “Remind me to not get on your bad side.”    
  
“Consider yourself reminded.” She brushes her hand through his hair, drops of water landing on her palm as she gently moves the damp curls.

“Your room is almost as messy as you left the back of my van, by the way.” He stands properly again and catches her hand before she lets it fall back to her side. His grip is still incredibly strong and it still feels nothing but safe.    
  
“And your knuckles are still fucked up.” Ciri points out as he lifts her hand to press a kiss to it, “You should let Yennefer see them, she’s rather good at that sort of stuff.”    
  
“Don’t you worry about me.”    
  
She isn’t entirely sure if he’s talking about this moment in the here and now or when he leaves in the morning.    
  
“So,” Cahir begins, sitting on the bed. He notices himself in the wardrobe’s mirrors, laughs at his reflection and then shuffles up to rest his head on her pillows. Ciri finds it endearingly cute, “Why did you drag me in here?”    
  
“I told you,” She shrugs before getting on the bed and lying next to him, staring at the ceiling, “To be normal and not bonding or shagging in the back of a campervan.”    
  
Cahir snorts, “And your idea of normal is...?”    
  
“A movie?” Cahir shrugs beside her, “Video games?    
  
“Sure,” He chuckles and she finds herself joining in, “What have you got?”   
  
Ciri clambers off her bed and switches the console on before she browses over the disappointingly small collection of games.    
  
“Not a lot, I’m afraid.” She murmurs, scratching her chin, “How about wrestling?”    
  
“Sure.” Ciri hands the controller to him — well, throws it at him — and pushes the game’s disc into the console before she climbs back on the bed.    
  
Her head lands on the pillow next to his and his arm is around her in an instant. Ciri rests her head on his chest so she’s not completely squashed by his embrace as his hand goes back to the controller. It’s slightly uncomfortable but if this was their last, she was determined to enjoy it.    
  
“How good are you at these?” His voice vibrates in his chest beneath her head — she’s gotten used to that now.

“Better than you, no doubt.”    
  
“Are you smack talking me?”    
  
She laughs as quietly as possible. She could get used to this.    
  
“Maybe just a little.”    
  
“If it’s you, I don’t mind,” Cahir murmurs, leaving warmth flooding her chest.    
  
It shows how this is all still foreign to her; the relaxation, the silly remarks and the playfulness. Why couldn’t it have always been like this for her?

She’s not entirely sure how long they lie like that; entwined with one another, laughing and just talking to one another in hushed whispers. 

It doesn’t bother her that it’s probably early hours in the morning, far past the time they both said they would be in bed for. Nothing matters.    
  
“Cahir?” She asks briefly looking up at him, mid-game; there’s a deep frown on his face in concentration and his eyes are practically glazed over.    
  
“Yeah?”    
  
“You smell like lilac and gooseberries.”    
  
“Well, yeah.” He replies, only just audible over the clicking of buttons as he tries to put her character in a chokehold but fails miserably, “It was the only bottle I could see.”    
  
Ciri can’t stop herself from laughing into his shoulder that he takes the controller from her and presses the pause button.    
  
“It’s not funny.” His protests fall onto her deaf ears.   
  
“It is, just a bit.” She argues back, never one to know how to drop an argument.    
  
“Hey.” Cahir does her a favour by giving her a small warning but her laughing continues and the next thing she knows is his controller being discarded and his fingers digging into her ribs.    
  
Yennefer and Geralt are forgotten about as they squirm, laugh and wrestle and just enjoy one another for what they are and what they’re only ever going to be.    
  
It goes on until they’re both red in the face, panting and laughing, Cahir grinning above her like a mad man.    
  
“My ribs hurt.” She whines in between her pants that turn into another laugh as he presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek.   
  
“I‘m sorry,” He whispers, moving some hair from her face, “Did I get too rough?”    
  
“No, you oaf.” Ciri shuffles to see him better and that she does, taken aback for a second by the way he was staring at her, “From laughing.”    
  
“Oh!” They share another bout of laughter before Cahir turns serious, “I’m going to miss you.”    
  
His words leave her stranded, hanging onto an invisible edge that she doesn’t seem to have a decent grip upon.    
  
“How can you miss something you never had?” She finds herself saying and it breaks her heart, seeing her words affect him so physically; the spark disappears from his eyes and his lips part to inhale somewhat sharply.    
  
“I had you for a little while, didn’t I?”    
  
Ciri runs her hand down his cheek, trying her best to avoid eye contact — one look would send her walls crashing down.    
  
“The littlest.” She sighs, her resolve slowly crumbling, “I’m still healing, Cahir. I think I will be for weeks, months.” 

“I know, you don’t need to tell me.” He presses a sweet kiss to her forehead, “I was glad to be able to help you numb the pain. Even if our time was so short.” 

“I don’t want you to think I was using you.” She grips his chin between her thumb and index finger and forces herself to look at him, “I wasn’t. It wasn’t my inten—“ 

He hushes her by pressing his lips quickly to hers.

“I know, Ciri.” He brushes their noses together — she’ll miss that the most, she decides, “I’m an optimist, you know?”

She instantly can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood and who is she to deny him now, after everything and at the bitter end?

“Oh?” Ciri laughs and hits his shoulder, “Tell me why, then.” 

“Hypothetically speaking, when I’m free in two years, you could keep a space in your diary for me?” He raises his brow as he asks the question, cheeky to the brim, “I know you’re a busy woman and all.”

“Would this...date involve whisky again?” She plays along with his game, raising her brow right back, “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“No, definitely not.” Cahir shakes his head sternly, “A proper date with a proper meal and some decent wine.”

Ciri hesitates for the slightest second, “Alright, I’ll keep a space for you.”

Cahir grins and kisses her again, her arms wrapping around his neck. 

How silly, she thinks, that the simplest and most unrealistic of promises can make him smile so bright.

“We should sleep,” She murmurs after they break apart, the TV off and doing nothing but lie beside one another in the dark, “Especially you.”

“I know,” She can just make out him running his hand down his face, “C’mere.” 

Ciri doesn’t need to be told twice and shuffles over to his embrace; his arms snaking around her and his head buried into the crook of her neck. The curls of his hair create an itch at the side of her jaw but she ignores it. 

She wants to stay like this.

“Hey,” She pries gently before she fully loses him to exhaustion, “What was that phrase?”

“Right person, wrong time?”

It hurts hearing how well he understands.

“That’s the one.” 

Ciri doesn’t say anything, there’s no need to. They both have always known where it was going to go.

She closes her eyes and allows the dark to overtake her screaming thoughts — sleep is welcomed.

It’s just as she succumbs to sleep, Cahir whispers faintly into her hair.

But she’s already gone.

* * *

  
  


“Good morning,” Yennefer greets her almost as soon as she arrives into the kitchen, “Sleep well?”    
  
“Like a baby.” Ciri agrees as she heads over to the fridge, gathering a bottle of water. She had left Cahir in bed, trying to pull himself out of it.

They hadn’t spoken much besides a good morning; it left her feeling slightly awkward but she pushed it aside.    
  
“And how did Cahir sleep?” Ciri goes to protest but Yen chuckles, quickly looking over something that popped up on her phone’s screen, “I’m not stupid, you do know that?”    
  
“I never said you were.”    
  
There was never hiding anything from Yennefer.   
  
“I played those tricks when I was your age, too.” She goes on much to Ciri’s embarrassment — she’s extremely glad they didn’t do anything else she might have figured out, “I also heard you laughing like a pair of hyenas.”    
  
“Sorry,” Ciri finds herself saying before she swigs some water, eager to get the conversation over with.    
  
“For what? Being happy and enjoying yourself?” Yen shakes her head, “Don’t ever be sorry for that.”    
  
“How did I cope without you all this time?” She asks, opening her arms to embrace Yen as tightly as she could manage whilst still half asleep. “Where’s Geralt?”   
  
“In bed.” Yen murmurs against her hair, rubbing her hand up and down her back, “His leg was hurting.”    
  
“It’s best he sleeps it off, then.”    
  
Yennefer opens her mouth, no doubt to agree but is interrupted by Cahir’s grand entrance. Ciri untangles herself from their prolonged hug and forces a smile on her face.   
  
“Hey,” She starts with because, of course, “Are you staying for breakfast?”   
  
“I’m just gonna head off.” He replies, clearly eager to leave and not prolong a goodbye, “Is that okay?”   
  
“Of course it is.” Yen answers on her behalf and grabs Cahir’s hand firmly, giving it a good shake, “I still can’t thank you enough for bringing her home. Geralt would say the same if he were here.”    
  
Cahir smiles warmly at Yen and it hurts her heart.   
  
“I told you, it wasn’t a problem.” Cahir places his hand over Yen’s briefly, “I’m glad to have met her and reconnecting with Geralt was nice. You’ve done a good job at raising them both.”    
  
“Thank you.” Yennefer laughs and untangles their hands, “I’ll let you two say goodbye.”    
  
Ciri offers her a small smile as thanks before she walks over to the door behind Cahir.    
  
“So,” He begins, starting it off so she doesn’t have to, “This is it.”    
  
“It is,” She desperately wants to ask him to stay for a little while longer but his duty and her emotions prevent her, “I can’t thank you enough.”    
  
“Me neither.” He holds his arms out and she practically throws herself into them, hugging him impossibly tight, “Thank you for taking my mind off things.”    
  
“Don’t die out there, Cahir.” She whispers into his neck, willing tears not to fall, “I’m keeping that space in my diary for you.”    
  
“I’ll try not to.” His smile is present in his voice, “Especially for you.” 

Ciri draws away from his hug and is met with the gentlest of kisses against her forehead.    
  
“I gotta go or I’ll never make it in time.” He doesn’t seem eager to leave any more but she’s all too aware of how he  _ needs _ to go.    
  
“Okay.” Her voice is slightly shaky — she curses herself, “Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe? Yennefer’s number is in your phone.”    
  
“I will,” He half laughs at her insistence, “I promise.”   
  
“Any promises I need to make?”    
  
“Don’t be a stranger.” He asks of her and she knows it won’t be impossible forever, but right now…   
  
“I promise.”    
  
“Alright,” That smile is back on his face, killing her completely, “Goodbye, then.”    
  
Ciri can’t help herself and leans up to press a quick kiss to his lips, always welcoming and always gentle, even in a depressing goodbye.    
  
“Goodbye, Cahir.”    
  
He kisses her hand quickly before he turns away and heads into his van.    
  
Ciri wraps her arms around herself; she lies and blames it on the cold morning.    
  
It doesn’t take long for his van to thrum to life, puffs of smoke leaving the exhaust. Cahir sticks his hand out of the window as he drives off and Ciri stands there, alone, until he’s almost completely gone.    
  
Yen comes outside once he’s no doubt on the highway and Ciri is left still staring at the empty street before her.  
  
“Hey,” She’s gently prodding, weary of her heightened emotions, “Are you coming in?”    
  
“Yeah,” Ciri nods, turning to Yen and reaching to link their arms together, “I’m starving.”    
  
She chuckles, “Did Cahir set off alright?”    
  
“It looked that way,” Ciri nods, heading in the door, “Still drove down the street like a maniac.”    
  
Yen replies but Ciri fails to hear her, her attention focusing on her backpack still hanging from its hook.    
  
“Fuck.” Ciri blurts out as she practically rips it from the perch and digs around inside, finding the object she hoped wasn’t in there.    
  
“What is it?” There’s concern in Yen’s voice as she comes back to Ciri’s side.   
  
Ciri finds the object she was searching for and brings it out of the bag for Yen to see. Her sigh is almost instant.    
  
“I forgot his phone was still in here.” Her hand goes to her forehead and then runs through her hair, “Shit. How’s he supposed to call?”    
  
“It’s alright, calm down.” Yen rests a hand on her shoulder, “We can mail it to him.”    
  
“I don—I don’t have his address.” Ciri feels herself spiralling but Yen’s grip keeps her firmly in the present.    
  
“We can find it.”    
  
“Yeah.” She agrees almost automatically, too busy staring at the phone she’s twirling around and around in her hand.    
  
Yennefer watches her for a moment or two and Ciri wonders what she's thinking; no doubt that’s she’s crazy, lost her mind or at the most drastic, lovesick.    
  
“Consider this,” Ciri’s never been so grateful to have Yennefer’s voice constantly in her ear, “Sometimes, things have a funny way of coming back to us. Maybe this is yours, hm?”    
  
Ciri finds herself offering a weak smile.    
  
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”    
  
She was so sure he wasn’t coming back.    
  
Maybe this would change his fate.    
  
Ciri offers a silent plea up to the Gods, hoping it does. 


	7. Chapter 7

_ I thought good times could last forever  _

_ long nights and perfect weather _

_ I tried to say never say never, but I was wrong  _

_ the wildness of those days, well they couldn’t last for long  
  
_

* * *

  
The last thing Ciri expects to see on a cold morning is Geralt walking in, shaking a box rather loudly at his ear. He’s practically in his own world, frown deeply set on his brow as he shakes and shakes.    
  
“What you got there?” Ciri’s curiosity has been tested and she scoops some more cereal quickly into her mouth as Geralt walks over and deposits the box in front of her.    
  
“To Ciri Bellegarde.” Geralt announces a tad too dramatically, hanging around for a few seconds, clearly wanting to see what was inside, “Delivery guy just brought it.”    
  
“Any idea where it’s from?” Ciri asks as she grabs the box and brings it closer to herself rather than have it inching closer and closer towards Geralt.    
  
“Usually a return to sender on the back.” He’s standing on his tiptoes as she turns it around, hoping to see before she does.   
  
“Looks like there was one but it’s been ripped off.”    
  
“Mysterious.” Geralt taunts her and she resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him.    
  
“Clear off, then.” She gathers a knife from the block just behind her and sticks it in the tape — whoever the parcel is from they were very thorough.    
  
“Why?” Geralt raises his brows, “Hiding something from me?”    
  
She knows he’s only joking with her and so she decides to get a little revenge.    
  
“I wish! I think it’s the vibrat—”   
  
“I’m leaving.” Geralt picks up his mug filled with coffee from the counter and turns to head towards the garden, “Goodbye.”    
  
Ciri is almost red in the face by the time she finishes fiddling with the tape, the four folding pieces of the cardboard finally flapping open to show her what’s inside. 

The faint smell of smoke and that cheap cologne wafts over her almost as soon as it’s open and it’s then she knows exactly who has sent it. Her heart starts to race and she fears the worst; a death note, a hint of a funeral, at worst his fucking ashes —   
  
She reaches in and pulls out the first thing her hand brushes against.    
  
A stack of polaroid photos neatly kept together with some brown string that is tied in a bow at the top. Ciri carefully unravels the knot, looking over the first few; a sunset from the top of the Amell Mountains, a shot of the fisherman from Metinna’s pier, one of her sleeping with his sunglasses on and a particularly endearing one of her and Cahir with half-eaten, half-melted ice lollies hanging from their mouths at the bar of The Red Kite when he should have been working.    
  
Ciri’s fingers brush against paper at the back of the stack which she soon finds to be a note in handwriting she doesn’t recognise. Obviously.    
  
_ I kept one of them. Hope you don’t mind. _   
  
His writing isn’t how she expected — who uses a fountain pen in this day and age — it’s more like a scribble and certainly hurried. She wonders why. 

She also finds herself wondering whether he’s okay and not laid in dunes somewhere, rotting, thinking no one cared.

Ciri delves into the box again, finding her fishnets rolled up rather nicely which makes her snort. Below them is Cahir’s hoodie, the one she claimed for her own on the first night. Buried beneath the Cahir-scented fabric is George the Golden Dragon — she can’t help but laugh, setting the stuffed toy she had thought the world of a few months ago next to her. She decides there and then that it’ll take priority atop her mountain of pillows. 

Her hand grabs some more paper, the last thing in the box. This note is a little more polished and written more or less how she expected despite the several ink blotches.    
  
_ You left some of your things in the back of the van. It took me a while to remember what your exact address was. I thought about calling you but you had or have my phone and I couldn’t remember Yennefer’s number. Don’t worry, I have a new one now...  _ _   
_ _   
_ Ciri can almost hear him saying it.   


_ You can call me or write a letter to me if people still do that. I’m heading out in two days, to a base in Maecht so— _ _   
_ _   
_ There are several words scribbled out.   


_ I don’t know. I’ll leave the address for you. Don’t feel like you owe it to me. _

_ I think I miss you. I’m not sure. Angoulême says I need to get over it, but—  _

There’s a large ink blot where he had left the pen for too long or scribbled over it in stupid, swirling patterns. 

Ciri looks for something else, anything that he’s written or to find out what he was going to say but all that’s in her hand is all that she has.

It’s stupid, she thinks, how words written in ink can make you dig up memories and think about them again.

She had foolishly tried to forget everything that happened before and the minor things after. But never Cahir, she’s remembered him fondly.

“Geralt said you received a parcel?” Yennefer asks, suddenly appearing behind Ciri as if from thin air, “From whom?” 

“Cahir,” She swallows thickly for some reason, “I left some things on his van.” 

“How kind of him to return them.” Yennefer observes the photos, smiling at the photo of them both, “You should call him.”

Ciri shakes her head, “He said he’s on duty in Maecht. Probably wouldn’t pick up.” 

“Ciri,” Yen’s voice is a sigh, clearly disappointed in this charade Ciri was still playing, “Voicemail is a thing, you are aware?” 

“I’m aware.” She places all the items back in the box and grabs it from the counter, ready to head upstairs, “I’ll think about it.” 

“Alright, sweetheart.” Yen nudges their shoulders together gently before she grabs a roll of sellotape out of the drawer in front of her.

“I’m going to go finish packing my boxes,” Ciri informs Yennefer but she doesn’t think she’s listening anymore, apparently on the hunt to find Geralt who was now certainly dodging having to do anything. 

Cahir’s box was coming with her, no matter what.

And George.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Yennefer’s voice echoes from the living room into the garden, startling both Ciri and Geralt. They both share a look before continuing to set the table in comfortable silence. The shout sounded like one of  _ those _ ones, when she was angry about something, or perhaps upset — she should be avoided at all costs in that instant.    
  
“Wonder what that’s about.” Geralt remarks to no one in particular, setting down some bowls of bread and salad along with cutlery.    
  
“Why don’t you go find out?” Ciri asks, making sure the napkins she’s been clinging onto are still neatly folded.    
  
“Are you joking?” He huffs, clearly offended, “No way.”    
  
“Coward.” She teases, finishing placing her assortment as Yennefer yells again, this time for her.    
  
“You best go.” Geralt takes control of the table as Ciri sighs, heading inside their home. 

“Who is it?” Ciri asks, quickly wiping her hands on the back of her jeans.    
  
Yen has her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece, worry etched into her face as she gently shrugs her shoulders.    
  
“Someone called Angoulĕme.” 

It’s a name she doesn’t remember, not at first and then it hits her like a van going too fast on a desert highway, an arm lazily hanging out of the window as it flashes by.    
  
Ciri grabs the phone as if she’s turned into a robot, all actions already planned and calculated. Yennefer rests her hand briefly on her shoulder as she leaves, allowing her some privacy to take the call and to also, no doubt, inform Geralt.    
  
“Hello?” Her voice is meek, almost unrecognisable, “Is he—”   
  
“You don’t beat about the bush, do you?” Angoulĕme answers from the other end, “No, he isn’t, unless you know something I don’t.”    
  
Ciri decides she doesn’t particularly like Angoulĕme, nor her attitude. 

“What’s happened?” Her next question leaves her mouth rather easily despite how much she doesn’t want to know the answer, “Is he okay?”    
  
“No, I don’t think he’s okay but he’s alive.” Angoulĕme’s sigh vibrates down the phone, “He’s been in a bad way.”   
  
Everything Ciri had thought about and feared so much last year had come true; it was why she told herself not to get attached and yet, here she was grasping the phone as if she were going to drop it.    
  
“How? When?”    
  
“I’m not going to go into detail over the phone.” This wasn’t at all how she imagined Angoulĕme; she was impatient, clearly tired and she had the startling feeling that she didn’t like her very much — for good reason, she supposes. “It was a few savaeds ago. We’ve been trying to reach out to you for at least two.”    
  
“I moved house…”    
  
“And?” Angoulĕme replies, “I’m not interested. I’m calling because Cahir asked me to. Either come and visit him or don’t.”    
  
Ciri isn’t one to be taken aback very often but Angoulĕme was continuing to push all her buttons.    
  
“Where is he?” She feels guilt rising in her chest and she mentally reminds herself it wasn’t her fault he was injured, he wanted to go back…   
  
“Brugge.” Angoulĕme goes on to explain, “There’s only one hospital. Ward seventeen.”    
  
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Ciri scratches at her forehead, looking over her shoulder as Yen comes back into the room, “Probably tomorrow.”    
  
“Sure.” Angoulĕme finishes their conversation and hangs up the phone promptly.    
  
Ciri can’t help but stare at the device in her hand before she puts it back in its designated spot and turns to Yen, feeling hot and dizzy.    
  
“What's wrong?” Yen holds out her hands, observing Ciri as if she were going to fall into her arms — that’s exactly what it felt like, anyway.    
  
“It’s Cahir,” Ciri begins whilst searching for her phone, “Well, his sister. He’s been hurt, or something.”    
  
Yen looks over her again and eventually grabs her arm as gently as she could to keep her steady.    
  
“What can I do?”    
  
  


* * *

  
Ciri makes it to Brugge’s only hospital at lunch the next day — her first train got cancelled which only led to her feeling worse and bumbling like she was in some kind of trance.    
  
She hates hospitals more than anything. They remind her of when Geralt had to have his leg amputated; the smell, the white walls, the constant beeping of machines. A part of her wishes she had let Yennefer come along but there are some things she has to do by herself without anyone holding her hand.   
  
Meeting your former summer fling in a hospital was, apparently, one of them.  
  
There’s a semi-circle shaped desk as soon as she enters the doors to the ward, a nurse sits at the head of the desk, typing away impossibly quickly at the computer’s keyboard. Ciri hates to be that person — the one who coughs or clears their throat to get the attention of a clearly busy person.    
  
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The receptionist babbles after around five minutes or so and does absolutely nothing to ease Ciri’s nerves, “Can I help you?”    
  
“Yeah, um—” Ciri speaks quieter than she had wanted and clears her throat, hoping it would help, “I’m, um, I’m looking for someone. “   
  
“Who?”    
  
“Cahir…” Ciri begins until she realises she needs to give the last name and knows none of them, “Or Angoulĕme?”    
  
Something akin to fear flashes in the receptionist’s eyes. Ciri begins to dread her upcoming meeting even more.   
  
“They’ll be just down there.” She stretches out of her seat just a little bit to point Ciri in the direction of the long, white and incredibly daunting corridor to their left, “Room fifteen. You should be fine, he’s allowed visitors now.”    
  
“Okay, thank you.” Ciri nods her head, trying her best to ignore the last comment about visitors.

It’s not her greatest feeling, walking down the corridor, doors containing all sorts of injured people on her left and long rows of those uncomfortable plastic chairs to the right. It’s too clean, too hot and she wants nothing more than to turn back and run a hundred miles in the opposite direction whilst knowing she can’t.    
  
It was her turn to help.

Ciri almost misses the young blonde sat, or more aptly, draped on several of the plastic chairs outside number fifteen. By her estimate, she’s only a couple of years younger than herself, most likely still a teenager; her hair is a little darker than her own and she has an awful, messy fringe that looks like it was done by her own hand. Her clothing is far too big on her but Ciri’s not sure whether that is a questionable style choice or not.    
  
She coughs once to get her attention and fails miserably, the younger of them both far too occupied with watching something on her phone, earphones so loud Ciri can hear the vibrations even from the distance she’s stood.    
  
“Angoulĕme?” She settles for calling out to her in the end, nerves still rising and getting the better of her, judging by the way she fiddles with her fingers as she waits for a response. 

“Yeah?” Angoulĕme finally answers after ripping one of her headphones out, looking Ciri up and down as if she had never seen another blonde girl before, “Can I help you?”    
  
“Um,” She wasn’t expecting a particularly warm welcome but this was something else entirely, “I’m Ciri.”    
  
“Oh!” Her tone seems a little friendlier but she’s still rather dismissive, her phone requiring more attention, “He’s in there.” Angoulĕme gestures with a jerk of her elbow to the door behind Ciri.    
  
“Right.” She nods, “Thanks.”    
  
Ciri takes a breath to prepare herself before she turns the handle of the door quickly but not so quick that she bursts into the room like a lunatic.    
  
She wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in the room but her eyes go straight to the person sitting in the seat beside the bed, who’s looking back at her with such a deep frown etched onto his face that Ciri thinks she’s been hoodwinked and sent into the wrong room.    
  
Judging by the slight resemblance, Ciri assumes the stranger to be Cahir’s father but he stands rather abruptly, sliding past her with a gruff mutter of something that seemed like a pardon before he calls for Angoulĕme and they retreat into the corridor.    
  
Dettlaff, then.    
  
“Ciri,” Cahir’s voice barely registers in her mind — it’s nothing like the honey tones she remembers and is instead replaced by something hoarse and broken, “You came.”    
  
If a picture came under the definition of worse for wear, Cahir would be it.    
  
He’s far skinnier than she remembers for a start, his hair longer and framing his face that is partly covered in bandages. There’s a smattering of cuts and bruises across almost every inch of his visible skin, some fading and some that still looked fresh. She can’t help but look at the sight in disbelief as she shuffles closer to the bed, her eyes flickering back to the bandages.    
  
“Eye injury.” He explains and her eyes dart back to the pyjamas he’s wearing — summer blue, like his eyes — as she tries to push guilt down away from her blabbering mouth, “Corneal abrasion and a gash on the side of my head to boot.”    
  
She swallows thickly, “Why?”    
  
He looks almost as unsure as she feels that the words managed to leave her mouth, even if they were somewhat nonsensical.    
  
“I got shrapnel in my eye that they removed yesterday. The cut is another story but it’s stitched up properly now.” Cahir looks at her the best he can and Gods, he looks exhausted, “I can only see you from this eye.” He gestures to the uncovered eye with the smallest of smiles, weak and pitiful.   


“Cahir,” Ciri whispers, trying to keep her feelings tightly on a leash as she sits at the edge of the bed instead of opting for the plastic chair, “What happened to you?”    
  
“Some fucking psychopath.” She almost flinches at his tone but it is gone almost as quickly as it came, “I was...kidnapped, I suppose. I think it was an inside job, colleagues turning against each other.”    
  
“Gods—”   
  
“He apparently worked for the other psycho Geralt, Milva and I ran into a few years ago.” She makes a mental reminder to inform Geralt as she looks at the bruising upon Cahir’s jaw as he talks, “They took me to this abandoned castle, I think. I was in the cellar, tortured almost every day for eleven months before another patrol finally found me.”    
  
Ciri keeps her lips tightly pressed together; she didn’t know what to say, what was right or wrong, what would hurt or what would soothe.    
  
“We were all fighting and someone dropped an explosive of some kind.” He sighs shakily, “Scraps of metal and shit went everywhere, including my eye. That was two months ago and I’ve been here since.”    
  
“Cahir,” Her mouth has gone dry and she has to dart her tongue over her lips, “I didn’t know.”    
  
“I guessed. I was pretty out of it, anyway.” The old Cahir comes back for a second, his voice a little lighter than it had been so far, “I asked for you when I was in between sleeping and waking, nobody listened at first. But there was a minute when they thought I wasn’t going to make it, and—”   
  
Cahir’s voice breaks and her hand reaches out for his instantly, entwining their fingers and squeezing. She’s mindful of the cannula and dressing on the top as her thumb grazes his knuckles, still bruised as if he were frozen in time.    
  
“That’s enough of that.” Ciri forces herself to look at him properly, the sight of a tear brimming in his eye enough to make her gain a lump in her throat, “I don’t want to hear anymore.”    
  
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, looking at their joined hands as he shuffles slightly. Ciri notices a leg brace attached to his knee which pokes out from underneath the sheet — just how broken was he? In more ways than one, she assumes. “Tell me about you instead, then.”    
  
“What do you want to know?” She asks, loosening her grip on his hand but not entirely letting go. If she did that again, she would regret it.    
  
“Everything.” 

“We moved house. I suppose that’s why you didn’t find me until now.” Ciri begins with the somewhat lighter stuff, even if she does feel off about filling him with the details of her easier year, “We live in Toussaint. The warm weather helps Geralt with his pain.”

“I know.” Cahir nods as best he can without disturbing too much bandaging, “Dettlaff, he’s sort of a lawyer. He’s good at tracking people down.” 

“I’m glad he did.” She makes sure to keep her answers sincere, “I restarted university, too.” 

“Still history and politics?”

“No, something I like now.” She laughs a little for the first time since she got off the train, “You remember that?” 

“I remember everything.” He shrugs it off and waits for her to continue but Ciri attempts firstly to swallow the lump in her throat.

To others, it was a minor detail that he didn’t have to remember but Mistle, she was too out of it to remember what Ciri studied after a week of being together, never mind a year apart. 

“I met someone.” Something flashes briefly in Cahir’s eye — sadness, perhaps? “I told her all about you.” 

Cahir snorts, “I bet she thinks I’m a fool.” 

“No,” She shakes her head, running her thumb over his knuckles again, “Bea admired your resilience. Asked how you coped with me constantly for all those weeks.” 

“It wasn’t difficult.” He no longer seems as engaged as he did in the conversation — she knows why, of course. She wasn’t as naive as she were back then, had gotten even better at reading people, “Cahir—“ 

“I’m so sorry!” A nurse blabs from the doorway, “I thought your visitors had left.” 

“It’s alright,” Cahir offers them a warm smile, “She was just about to go.”

“Can you give us a minute?” Ciri manages to ask the nurse who nods and backs out of the door, despite the uneasy tone she had delivered the question with. 

“Are you staying a while?” He looks hopeful and youthful again.

“If that’s okay? I have spare clothes and I’d like to catch up with you. Properly.” 

Cahir nods and pats her hand as if she were a friend. Is that what she was? Is that what she wanted to be? 

Gods, she was confused. 

“If you haven’t got anywhere to stay—“ Ciri shakes her head in response, “Tell Dettlaff I said you can take my room.” 

“I thought they left.” 

“No, they’ll have gone to the cafeteria and then they had an appointment with a doctor about my discharge.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll tell him.” She sighs, “I don’t think Angoulĕme likes me.”

“She doesn’t like anyone.” 

The nurse knocks back on the door.

“I’m going to have to insist,” They demand, looking at Ciri who can’t help but huff in frustration, “It’s treatment time and then x-rays on that knee.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ciri promises, squeezing his hand as she gets up from the bed, “I promise.” 

Cahir nods with the slightest of smiles, “Tomorrow then, Ciri.” 

Ciri sends him her best smile back and a nod to the nurse before she ducks out of the door and lets it shut quietly behind her.

She wants to yell, cry and be sick. In that order. The room is spinning again and she has to utter several curses under her breath to make it stop. 

Mentally, she promises herself to wait until she heads to sleep. Until she’s alone and not in a hospital where anyone could see her upcoming meltdown.

Including Angoulĕme who has reappeared upon the plastic chairs further down the corridor. 

“How was he?” Angoulĕme asks before Ciri can open her mouth, “What did the nurse want?”    
  
“He has to go for an x-ray on his knee.” Ciri stammers, still unsure of how to act around her, “And his medication was due.”    
  
“Right,” She shoves her phone into the pocket of her hoodie, “I suppose he said you could stay with us?”    
  
“If that’s alright with you and the rest of your family.” Ciri adjusts the hem of her shirt, “I don’t want to step on any toes.”    
  
Angoulĕme shrugs, hands following her phone into her pockets, “You’re not stepping on any of mine so it doesn’t matter to me.”    
  
“Okay then.”    
  
“Dettlaff is waiting in the car, so—”    
  
“I’ll follow.”    
  
“Sweet.”    
  
Angoulĕme turns abruptly on her heels to exit the hospital with Ciri following her like a lost puppy — that’s exactly what she felt like.    
  
Once they’re in the elevator to head to the car park which is several floors below, Ciri pulls her mobile discreetly from her bag and quickly taps a text to Yennefer.    
  
_ Can you please send some clothes over? Just a few for a week or so! Thank you, you’re the best! _

The pair of them remain silent as Ciri follows Angoulĕme through the car park; in truth, she had expected a warmer reception from both she and Cahir but perhaps that was naive of her. She hadn’t called, never wrote back to him, never did anything. 

It was so typical of her to only be concerned with her own life, her pain and then only realise someone else’s after she had already hurt them beyond repair.    
  
“Ciri, is it?” Dettlaff says as she slides into the back of their car; it had a similar smell to Cahir’s campervan, except slightly more herby, “Dettlaff.”    
  
“Nice to meet you.” Ciri quickly gives his outstretched hand a quick shake before she retracts into the darkness of the back seat, “Cahir spoke fondly of you. Both of you.”    
  
“Cahir spoke about you, too.” Angoulĕme finally acknowledges her as they head out of the car park and onto the main roads, winding and wistful, “All the fuckin’ time.”    
  
“Angoulĕme,” Dettlaff warns; he drives nothing like Cahir, his turns and twists are done only with his hands, calculating and far too precise to appear completely natural.    
  
“It’s fine,” Ciri replies, digging her phone back out of her bag and accidentally grabbing her emergency toothbrush instead, “I imagine it was annoying for you.”    
  
“You can say that again.” She can just picture Angoulĕme rolling her eyes in the dark, “Ciri this, Ciri that, Ciri has her coffee this way—”    
  
“Angoulĕme, behave yourself.” Dettlaff’s eyes connect with Ciri’s in the rearview, “He never mentioned the coffee.”    
  
Ciri snorts, “It’s fine, honestly.” 

Her phone vibrates against her hand. 

_ Of course. Call tomorrow and let me know how he’s doing.  _

Ciri taps a brief reply just in time for Dettlaff to pull into a driveway and switch the engine off.

“Home sweet home.” Angoulĕme remarks as she opens her door, bounding up to the steps.

Their home is smaller than any she has ever lived in but unlike several of hers, this one oozes nothing but warmth and affection even from the outside.

Its gardens are well kept; rose bushes of different varieties, various other shrubs and flowers she has no clue what to call. 

“You have a lovely home.” Ciri finds herself saying to Dettlaff as she follows him up the small steps leading to the front door.

“It’s all Regis’ touch,” Dettlaff replies, voice unwavering and somehow constantly stern, “None of mine.” 

“Where is Regis?” She asks before she can stop herself.

“Away on business until tomorrow.” He closes the door behind her and offers to take her coat wordlessly, “I’m afraid it’s me you have to put up with until then.” 

“You’ve been welcoming so far.” Ciri sheds her coat and hands it to him but keeps her bag firmly on her shoulder, “It’s me you have to put up with.”

Dettlaff almost cracks a smile. 

Almost.

“Regis is much more hospital than I.” He clears his throat somewhat awkwardly, “There’s a spare room upstairs, furthest on the left. Make yourself as comfortable as you like.” 

“Thank you.” She offers him a smile that naturally doesn’t get returned, “For everything.”

“It’s what Cahir would have us do.” Dettlaff nods his head politely and dismisses himself to the kitchen. 

Ciri speeds upstairs, mindful of not disturbing what she assumes is Angoulĕme’s room due to the light coming from underneath the door. 

The spare room is small, smaller than the smallest room at their home in Toussaint. There’s simple blue painted walls, a comfortable looking bed and a set of drawers that match absolutely nothing. 

She sets her bag on the top of the drawers and plugs her phone in to charge at the nearby socket before kicking off her shoes and jeans. 

Gods, she was tired. 

Perhaps it was the thought of having to deal with her feelings towards Cahir. 

Did she have feelings for him? 

_ Stupid question.  _

She was always going to, always had but they were deeply buried and only freshly resurfaced like a raw wound. It would have been easier if they had risen back up slowly but nothing in her life had ever gone easy. 

They would have to talk tomorrow about everything that had happened. There were also the dreaded questions and answers about future possibilities. 

But first, sleep. 

That was important too.

* * *

“Morning.” Angoulĕme greets gruffly as Ciri heads into the kitchen, buttoning her coat. 

Ciri almost doesn’t notice her bent over some cereal, loading far too much into her mouth at one time.

“Morning,” She replies, “Are you going to the hospital?” 

She shakes her head and wipes her mouth with the back of her sleeve, “No, not until later, maybe not even then. He can come home today, though.”

“Really?” Ciri’s painfully aware of how high pitched her voice goes, “Why aren’t you going for him now, then?”

“We have to wait for Regis to collect him.” Angoulĕme shrugs, “Guardian and all that. Guess they don’t want him to be without a sensible adult or whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s usually the case.” She agrees, still somewhat intimidated and terrified to talk to Angoulĕme, “Am I still able to visit?” 

“Dunno,” She shrugs again, taking several more mouthfuls of cereal, “Probably.”    
  
“Is there a bus service or something, then?” Ciri waits for Angoulĕme to give a swift nod of her head, “Great, well, I’ll get one.”    
  
“Hey, Ciri?” Angoulĕme quickly finishes chewing whilst Ciri tries her best to ignore her nerves, “Listen, we’re similar in age, right? So we can be honest with each other?”    
  
“Yes, of course.” She nods quickly and her stomach flips numerous times as she picks her bag up from behind the door, “As honest as you want.”

“Are you planning on fucking off again after this?” She throws her empty bowl in the sink and it lands with a horrible metallic clang that sends a shiver down Ciri’s spine, “I love Cahir, I do. I wouldn’t ever tell him that, o’ course and I don’t wanna be picking up the pieces of the mess you fuckin’ leave him in again.”   


Ciri should have known the question was coming; she was tossing and turning, battling with herself for the entire night over who would ask it and when. 

“No, I want to stay.” She confirms not only to Angoulĕme but herself too. Maybe then everything they both went through would mean something, ”I want to make things right if that’s possible.”   
  
“Knowing him, it will be.” 

“And make things right with you lot too.” 

“There’s nothing to make right.” Angoulĕme shrugs again, “I just don’t like seeing him like, you know,  _ that _ .” 

“I understand.” Ciri offers her a small smile, “I was pretty shitty. Selfish. I could have picked up a phone and talked to him.”    
  
“Forget about it.” She seems to have had a change of heart, “I’m sure you had your reasons.”    
  
Ciri was expecting her to know every little detail of what happened and about Mistle. Cahir can’t have said anything — yet another thing she had to thank him for. It was their secret, belonging to no one else.    
  
“I’m not going to be doing it again, Angoulĕme.” She keeps her voice earnest, “I want to help him the way he helped me. Even if it’s just the most mundane thing.”    
  
Angoulĕme looks over Ciri for a moment, as if she’s looking at her properly for the first time — her gaze is harsher than Cahir’s but they almost share the same thinking frown despite no blood between them.    
  
“Then we’re gonna get on just fine.” A smile is now fully present on the younger girl’s face, “You need bus twenty, by the way.”    
  
“Thank you.” Ciri quickly remembers to say as Angoulĕme heads out of the kitchen.    
  
At least that was one relationship repaired.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
It didn’t take her particularly long to reach the hospital — the public transport services in Brugge were considerably better than the ones in Toussaint and Kaedwen.    
  
Her first port of call had been the cafeteria to not only collect some food for herself but for Cahir, too. She remembers all too well Geralt’s complaints of how gross and inedible hospital meals were so she hopes that maybe the cafeteria food is a little better tasting.    
  
When she arrives at the ward, yesterday’s receptionist waves her down which she’s thankful for — she wasn’t looking for a repeat of the awkwardness. 

She makes sure to knock clear enough on the door to Cahir’s room, only twisting the handle when she hears him call her in.    
  
“Ciri!” The half of his face which she can see lights up. It makes her heart twinge sharply, “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”    
  
“I thought I would keep you company until Regis picks you up later?” He nods and she goes on, “I’ll help you pack or whatever.”    
  
“That would be nice, thank you.”    
  
She missed his voice; the softness, the gentleness, the way she would sit and listen to him read or say anything, her eyes closed and his fingers running through her hair.   
  
“I brought you some food. From the cafe.” She opens her bag, resting it on the edge of his bed as she fishes out the polystyrene boxes containing their food, “I know how shit the actual meals they give you can be.”    
  
“Amazing.” Cahir shuffles himself up to sit better, still looking a little worse for wear but there is a little more life in his eyes — perhaps it was the smell, “Thank you. You’ve got no idea how tired I am of sandwiches with little to no butter on them.”    
  
Ciri places his box onto the tray that pulls over his bed before she collects her own and sits in the plastic chair beside him.    
  
“How are you feeling today?”    
  
“Still as if I’ve been run over but more like one truck instead of the initial five.” She hears his stomach grumble from her place beside him and she has to laugh at the wonders a simple ham and cheese toasted sandwich can do for a hungry man, “I’m glad to be going home, though.”    
  
“I bet you are.” Ciri can’t help but watch as he chews thoughtfully; she wonders what he’s thinking or feeling. Is it as awkward for him as it is for her? “Regis is coming to collect you?”    
  
“Yeah,” He pauses to finish his mouthful, “You’re not worried about that, are you?”    
  
“How did you guess?”    
  
“Intuition.” He shrugs and for a brief moment, that half-smile she adored so much appears but it’s gone just as quickly as it came, “You’ve nothing to worry about, Ciri. I’m sure he’ll like you.”    
  
“Even after the shit stint, I pulled?”    
  
“I didn’t tell him about it. About any of it.” He admits, scraping some cheese off the polystyrene with his fingernail, “Especially not Mistle.”    
  
“Why?” She finds herself asking, “Anyone else would have.”    
  
“It wasn’t my story to tell. It still isn’t.”    
  
It’s like they have not been apart; he still knows how to burrow beneath her skin, swim in her veins.    
  
“What story did you tell them, then?” 

“That I met a girl and that I took her home.” Cahir pokes holes into the box’s lid as he speaks, it’s rather off-putting but Ciri keeps her mouth closed, “That we were friends and I was just a little crazy about her. I talked often about how I was waiting for her to call any day now but she never did. Not once.” He takes a shaky breath, still focusing his eye on anything but her, “They thought I’d made you up in my head to cope. You were just a figment of my imagination. I believed it too eventually.”    
  
“And you didn’t call because I had your phone.”    
  
“That was fully charged, had my family member’s numbers on it, yes, that phone.”    
  
“I know I should have called. A text would have been a decent start but I was too terrified of everything. My thoughts, my feelings...They were all against me.” She shifts from the chair to the edge of his bed, mindful to not sit on his legs. “If I had known you were in trouble earlier, I’d have dropped everything in an instant.”    
  
“I don’t hold any of it against you.” His fingers search for hers, travelling along the wool blanket; she lets him take her hand, she would let him take anything he wished, “Not one bit.”    
  
“I don’t deserve it.” She entwines their fingers like how they used to, forever ago.    
  
“Don’t say that.” He squeezes her hand weakly, “You deserve nothing but good things, Ciri. You always have. Hating and blaming yourself won’t make any difference.”    
  
“I can still be sorry.”    
  
Cahir doesn’t reply, doesn’t speak, she’s not entirely sure he breathes as he mulls over her words. Ciri doesn’t need him to accept her apology, she just needs him to know.    
  
He smiles at her after a while — it feels like a century — and she knows that it’s his way of forgiving her, even if he claims she doesn’t require it.    
  
“Can I ask you a question?”   
  
“Anything you want, Cahir.”    
  
“This Bea,” He starts and refuses to make eye contact with her, “Are you still together?”    
  
She can’t help but chuckle, “No.”    
  
“Oh,” Cahir nods his head slowly, processing the information, “I’m sorry to hear that.”   
  
“Are you?” Ciri raises a brow in his direction, smiling to hold in her laughter that was bubbling below the surface.    
  
“Yes!” He appears somewhat offended so she doesn’t push her luck, “Of course I am. I want, you know, for you to be happy.” 

“I tried for weeks, months even.” Ciri sighs a little at the memory; Bea was a sweet girl who she thought a lot of and still does, “I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her about Mistle. I didn’t want to unload all that shit on to her, she didn’t need it. But, we’re still friends.”    
  
“At least,” Cahir runs his thumb against her knuckles, “You have better friends now.” 

“Yeah,” She nods in agreement, keeping the thought that maybe it hadn’t worked out with Bea because of her feelings towards him to herself, “I never quite saw it that way.”    
  
“I kept this polaroid of you in my bag.” He snorts, the cheek that wasn’t hidden away under a bandage turning a little red, “One of you wearing those bloody aviators and looking down at the tiny towns that sit in the shadow of the Amell Mountains. When my squad found it, I was teased mercilessly but, I suppose in a way, it made the days shorter.”   
  
“That was sweet of you.” Ciri can’t help but laugh a little at the thought of him being tormented, no doubt pouting in all his inherent adorableness.    
  
“Regis used to say it all the time and then even more after I had met you, that I fell in love too easily.” She hears him swallow thickly and her stomach ties itself into a firm knot, “I used to disagree but Great Sun, I was in love with you from the minute I rolled that window down.”    
  
“Cahir—”   
  
“Please don’t feel like you have to say anything. You don’t.” He sighs gently, “I just wanted you to know.”    
  
“Cahir, I already knew.” She brings herself to look at him, his eye sparkling for the first time as they used to, “I knew then and it terrified me. Why do you think I ran?”   
  
“I thought it was because—” He coughs to clear his throat, “Because you didn’t care for me the way I did for you. That I was just someone that cared enough to keep you warm when you were lonely.”    
  
“You’re wrong, you know?” He nods with a faint smile — of course, he knows. “I was just terrified, frightened, whichever word you want to use. I just wasn’t ready to be in a relationship, to be in love but it didn’t mean I didn’t care. Never that. You’ve no idea how sorry I am that I didn’t pick up a phone though. No idea, Cahir.”    
  
“It wouldn’t have changed anything. I’d still be here.” He relaxes his grip on her hand, his fingers instead touching each of her knuckles, “I didn’t want to intimidate you with my feelings or even burden you with them.”    
  
“You couldn’t do that if you tried.” She replies causing him to chuckle lightly, his fingers tracing patterns against her skin, “I’ll stay for as long as you want me here. If you want me here.”    
  
“Of course I want you here.”    
  
“Then I’ll stay. I won’t run for the hills this time.” He laughs again and she finds herself leaning in, brushing their noses together as they used to, “I remember everything too.”    
  
Cahir closes the impossibly tiny gap between them both and brushes their lips together. His are as soft as she remembers, inviting as they were and can still cause her to feel that foolish dizziness.    
  
His breath is warm on her face as she pulls slightly back; she can still smell the mint and easily notices the way the corner of his mouth twitches up. She can’t help but reach out and tuck away a few strands of hair behind his ear, mindful of the bandage. Cahir grabs her hand gently as she goes to withdraw and presses a kiss to her wrist; how she missed his little touches.    
  
“I’ll pack your bag for you.” Ciri places a kiss on his forehead, over the bandages and withdraws with a smile, “We have all the time in the world for the little things.”    
  
“That we do.”   
  


* * *

  
  
Ciri doesn’t know what she was expecting to see when she finally met Regis.    
  
However, the man that walks into the room was definitely not it.    
  
For a start, he’s older than she expected, or maybe he just looks it. He’s got almost a full head of considerably grey hair, dressed in black everything with a badly knitted rainbow scarf over his peacoat, making him look entirely eccentric.

Ciri can’t help but smile at the way Cahir’s face lights up when he lays his eyes on the older man; happiness and pure joy. The look is mirrored onto Regis’ face.    
  
“How are you feeling today?” Regis is almost instantly sitting at the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out for Cahir’s, “Better?”    
  
“Yes.” Cahir nods eagerly, “I just want to go home. I’m all packed and ready. Ciri helped.”    
  
“Ah, Ciri,” Regis remarks as if he’s only just noticed her. With a swift movement, he’s back off the bed and holding an outstretched hand to Ciri, as if to welcome her to the family. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”    
  
“And you.” She replies honestly, shaking his hand quite enthusiastically, “Cahir talks highly of you.”    
  
“I’m sure none of it is as deserved as he makes it out to be.” Regis gives her hand a light squeeze and she realises this is who Cahir gets almost his entire  _ everything  _ from, “I’m glad you came to visit.”    
  
“Me too.” Ciri agrees, smiling from ear to ear.   
  
“I would have been here sooner than this hour but there was some bother with an order and I had to—”   
  
“It’s okay.” Cahir cuts him off, “I don’t think they would have discharged me until now, anyway.”    
  
“Of course. We all know what hospitals are like.” Regis hops back on over to near the door, “I see you’ve gotten out of those pyjamas.”    
  
“He complained about it the entire time.” She tattle-tales to Regis who smiles in that way like he knows exactly what she’s talking about.    
  
She wasn’t lying. It took them at least an hour with Cahir forcing her to stay outside of the bathroom as if she had never seen him naked before. Each time there was a thump or bump, her hand flew to the handle. Eventually, he let her help — it was difficult for him to get the bottoms off with his knee brace — but he complained the entire time.    
  
Ciri didn’t have a particularly gentle grip, after all.    
  
“I imagine he did.” Regis chuckles a little before he gathers a crutch that had been left nearby to the door, “Come on, lad, let’s get you up.”    
  
“I’m not using that.” He’s practically pouting and she has to hide her smile by looking at the ceiling. “I can stand.”    
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. Unaided? After being in bed for months?”    
  
“He’s right.” She ignores the death look Cahir sends in her direction, “Just use it for a few days, at least. Come on.”    
  
Cahir stubbornly folds his arms but it lasts only a few moments; he relents rather easily and swings his legs with a little shove from his arm over the side of the bed. Regis is at his side in an instant, almost as quickly as Ciri is behind him. It takes some manoeuvring but Cahir is up on his feet quicker than she expected but he stumbles as soon as he attempts to take a step and it causes both her and Regis to reach out blindly.   
  
“I got it, I’m fine.” He slips his arm into the crutch almost effortlessly and Ciri exhales in relief as he gets a little more steady on his feet.    
  
“Ciri, keep a hold of his other arm as we go to the parking lot?” Regis asks as he collects Cahir’s duffel bag off the floor; it has his dog tags knotted around the handle — at least he was able to bring them home with him and not in a body bag.    
  
“Of course.” She’s unsure of whether to take his hand or not — would he want her to? — so she settles for linking their arms. He doesn’t feel as strong as he used to but she swallows away that sad thought.    
  
It feels as if the journey takes them a year and a half but she doesn’t complain, not once. It wasn’t the time nor did she truly feel that way she just got irritable when feeling tired. Luckily, Regis is on hand but to her disappointment, he helps Cahir into the front seat, instead of the back with her and his bag —  _ never mind _ , she thinks,  _ we’ll have plenty of time later _ .    
  
“I hope Angoulĕme was welcoming,” Regis speaks up once they’re driving down the winding roads, Cahir looks out of the window at the sights he had not seen for so long. Her heart almost aches, “Dettlaff, too.”    
  
“Dettlaff was.” Ciri nods, catching Regis’ gaze in the mirror, “Angoulĕme was a little hostile but she had reasons. We’re fine now.”    
  
“Good.” He replies, concentrating on the road. Ciri wonders if it was him who learned Cahir to drive — they have similar mannerisms behind the wheel, “She can be a little feisty.”    
  
“That’s one word for it.” Cahir snorts from the passenger seat, still looking out of the window.    
  
“And what word would you use to describe her?” Regis asks, briefly looking away from the road to deliver a fabulous side-eye to the side of Cahir’s head.    
  
“Feral is the one I typically go for.”    
  
“And you wonder why she wants to use you as her personal punching bag.” He rolls his eyes as Cahir laughs to himself.    
  
Ciri is enjoying their company far too much that she thinks she could get used to this; the camaraderie, the feeling of being surrounded by people who understand what love is so perfectly, it falls off them in gentle waves, slowly and all-consuming.    
  
“On a scale of one to ten,” She reaches out between the gap to rest her hand on Cahir’s shoulder, “How happy are you to be back in your bed?”   
  
“At a minimum, fifteen.” He reaches his hand back to squeeze hers gently.    
  
“Out of interest, are you planning on staying long?” Regis pipes up, taking what Ciri remembers to be the last turn before they reach their house, “You’re always welcome, of course.” 

“I’m not sure.” Ciri answers honestly — right now she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to leave at all, “A few weeks,? Until I know he’s alright.”    
  
“Of course that’s okay.” Cahir looks over the arm of the seat and smiles stupidly as Regis replies, “It’ll be nice to get to know you, I’m sure.”    
  
“And you.” She answers before smiling back at Cahir, warmth filling her up the brim.    
  
It falls silent as Regis pulls into their driveway and continues as they all make their way out of the car, Ciri keeps a tight hold of Cahir’s duffel bag as Regis aids him out with little effort, practically forcing him to put his arm into the crutch. He whines about it, of course, but Ciri is too busy focusing on the small twitch the curtain gives from the inside.    
  
“I’ll go open the door for you.” Ciri quickly says as she works up a small jog to get ahead of them; she opens the door with a quiet swing and quickly steps on to the first stair to clear the small hallway.    
  
As soon as Cahir is in the door, Angoulĕme is there, arms thrown around his shoulders. Regis has to hold Cahir’s waist to stop him from going over.    
  
“I missed you,” Angoulĕme murmurs into his shoulder.    
  
“You only saw me yesterday,” Cahir complains despite his arms looping around her waist and squeezing just a little tighter.    
  
“I missed you being at home then, doofus.” She slaps his shoulder as they part, each rolling their eyes at one another in a way only siblings do, “Don’t make me regret being nice to you.”    
  
“You’re never nice to me.” He pokes Angoulĕme’s shoulder lightly.    
  
Ciri had only just noticed Dettlaff’s presence; he snuck in behind Angoulĕme, quiet and brooding as she had come to expect of him.    
  
“It’s good to have you home.” Dettlaff says, not getting too close but enough to be considered a part of the family scene, “If only for Regis and Angoulĕme to stop talking about how much they miss you.”    
  
Cahir snorts, “Thank you.”    
  
“Come, we can all talk and converse in the morning.” Regis gently guides Cahir to the stairs, hands firmly upon his shoulders, “Ciri, could you get this one settled into bed?”    
  
“Of course,” She chuckles a little, taking Cahir’s hand as he reaches for her, his other going straight to the bannister as he has to heave himself up. She winces, mindful of his injured knee the entire time, “He won’t get his way with me.”    
  
“Feel free to slap his arse if he acts like a petulant child,” Angoulĕme says with a far too happy grin on her face.    
  
Cahir sticks his middle finger up at her; Angoulĕme replies by sticking out her tongue. Ciri watches as Regis pushes her gently into the living room.    
  
“Now who is the child?” She hears Dettlaff chide.    
  
It takes them a while to get up the stairs; Ciri ensures he takes it steady, one slow step at a time. His room is the last door to the right and Ciri goes first, shoving it open with her back.    
  
She had maybe expected his room to be more full but with him being away for most of the year, she should have known it would be largely empty. All there is in the small room is a bed pushed up against the wall containing a window, a wardrobe and a bedside cabinet. Nothing else. Nothing to say he even existed.    
  
“Sit on the bed,” Ciri says as she guides him in the room, flicking on the light and placing his bag in front of his wardrobe, “I’ll help you get your shoes off.”    
  
“I can get this one off.” He promises, slipping the one that wasn’t on his injured leg rather easily.   
  
“Okay.” She chuckles a little as she kneels to untie his laces, easily taking the baseball boot off, “You heading to sleep?”    
  
He nods and starts unbuckling his belt which she ends up helping him with before he slides his jeans down his legs and discards them in the corner of the room. Ciri helps him get the duvet and sheets on — he says thank you each time, leaving her cheeks warm.    
  
“Will you stay?” He grabs her hand as she turns to leave, pulling on her heartstrings, “Just until I’m asleep?”    
  
“Yeah, of course.” Ciri squeezes his hand and leans over the bed to draw the curtains, “Let me just turn off the li—”   
  
“Don’t.” He sounds incredibly young and frail and she hates it, hates how it makes her feel, “I’d rather you leave it on.”    
  
“Can I dim it?” She gathers his hand and presses his bruised knuckles against her lips, “I promise I won’t turn it off. “   
  
Cahir looks over her, almost debating whether he trusts her or not before he nods slowly. She quickly hurries to the switch, turning it dim enough that he could sleep well but not so fully on that it was too bright and blinding.    
  
He’s left room for her at the side between the wall and him, leaving her no choice but to climb over his legs and settle in; the covers smell fresh and she wonders who had washed and changed the sheets — Dettlaff, probably.    
  
As soon as she’s comfortable Cahir drapes an arm around her waist and shuffles closer until his head is resting on her chest. Ciri runs her fingers through his hair; it was odd not seeing it trimmed short, wild curls everywhere but she thinks she could get used to it like this — she may even like it, in time.    
  
She presses a kiss to the top of his head as his breathing slows, her hand moving from his hair to run up and down his back.    
  
“I’ll stay.” She whispers into the dim light of the room, unsure of whether he could hear her still or not; it didn’t matter, “For as long as you need or want. I promise, Cahir.”

This time, she won’t run.   



	8. Chapter 8

“Hey!” Ciri chirps as Cahir shuffles into the kitchen, hair a mess and a deep frown set on his face — he looked like that every morning, despite getting better in the past weeks or so, “I made you some breakfast.”    
  
“You didn’t have to make me any breakfast.” The smile he delivers is sappy and sleepy and simply perfect.    
  
“Yeah, well, you don’t always have to take care of yourself.” She keeps her eyes on the pan as she flips the pancake over — she remembers how much he enjoyed them, “Remember?”    
  
“I remember.” He answers back, a soft smile still on his lips as he sits down at the breakfast bar beside her.    
  
Regis had removed the bandages on the side of his face two days ago and Ciri was still getting used to the scar. It was long, across most of his face and still quite red. His eye was only lightly bruised and red now — eye drops work wonders — and she was glad to see him getting better, slowly but surely.    
  
“Do you want anything on them?” She asks, starting to plate the pancakes up for him whilst also trying to keep her hand steady.    
  
“Um, just syrup.” She doesn’t need to ask the next question on the tip of her tongue, “It’s in the cupboard just above your head.”    
  
Ciri has to stand on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf of the cupboard and grab the bottle before she places it and the plate of pancakes in front of Cahir. He mutters a thank you and she can’t help but lean in and capture his lips whilst they still had a fleeting moment of privacy.    
  
Days had gone by with scarcely little than a hand brush beneath a table, a fleeting kiss on the cheek as she climbs into bed next to him after he’s exhausted himself out through pottering about the greenhouse with Regis, scouring the newspaper with Dettlaff or playing board games with Angoulĕme.    
  
“What was that for?” His eyelashes brush against her cheek as they flutter before he goes to pouring an insane amount of syrup on the pancakes she just created; the thought of all that sugar makes her wince.    
  
“I felt like it.” She shrugs as she heads over to the sink, giving the pan and utensils a quick scrub in the soapy water she had prepared earlier.    
  
“Thank you,” Cahir says after a few mouthfuls, she isn’t sure whether he’s talking about the kiss or the pancakes at first, but then, “Feel free to feel like it more often.”    
  
“Well, I’m glad you haven’t lost your cheekiness.” Ciri snorts, putting the dishes into the drying rack, “I was worried you had.”    
  
“No, never.” He answers her in between chews as she comes to lean on the counter nearby to him, “These are really good, by the way.”    
  
“Really?” She raises a brow as he nods in confirmation, “I’ve been practising, I suppose. For when I go into the big, scary world. Can’t live with Geralt and Yennefer forever.”    
  
“I suppose not.” He takes another huge forkful, syrup dripping through the prongs, “Though, I’m older than you and still living here.”    
  
“But you and I are different.” Ciri says, causing him to raise a brow, “You know, you like being at home, surrounded by family and so do I but I enjoy my freedom too.”    
  
“I see.” Cahir nods slowly, clearly taking her words in and trying his best to understand them and her ways, “Thank you for telling me.”    
  
Ciri shrugs her shoulders with a smile and Cahir finally gets what she was staring at, offering her some pancakes on his fork.    
  
“Gods,” She splutters after chewing, “How much syrup did you put on those?”    
  
“I like sweet things.” He replies softly, cheekily and almost enough of a smirk to make her blush.    
  
“Cahir, are you trying to flirt with me?” She laughs, “Badly, I might add.”    
  
“It’s the only kind of flirting I know how to do.”    
  
“Lying will not make me feel sorry for you.” She gathers the tip of his nose in between her thumb and index finger, giving a tug which makes him laugh and shove her hand away. “I’ll make us a drink. Coffee?”    
  
Cahir just grunts as his answer, focusing on finishing the rest of his breakfast as she gathers his mug and the blue one she had claimed as her own from the cupboard.    
  
This was truly an old fashioned household, at least, by her judgement it was. In Toussaint, the first thing Yennefer had plugged in at their new home was their coffee machine whereas Regis and Dettlaff only drank instant. She wasn’t going to complain, she was a guest but she was missing Yennefer’s expensive taste, just a little.    
  
Instant was quicker either way and before long she’s placing Cahir’s mug in front of him, milky and full of sugar just how he likes it. Ciri takes the seat next to him whilst there is still one available. When Angoulĕme comes for breakfast, she’ll be forced out of it — her designated spot was next to Cahir, perhaps just to annoy him.    
  
“So,” Ciri starts, “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”    
  
“What?” Cahir splutters on his drink, a droplet or two running down his chin — Gods, what a catch he was.   
  
“Blathe first.” She quickly runs her thumb across his chin, getting rid of the coffee droplet he missed with the back of his sleeve, “Yennefer’s too.”    
  
“Why didn’t you say sooner?” He wraps both of his hands around the mug as best he can; three of his fingers still didn’t work, “I would have gotten you something, anything. A card or a gif—”   
  
“Would you let me finish?” He sighs and then nods his head, “I was thinking because it’s Belleteyn tonight too, we could maybe go on, you know, a date.”    
  
The slight chuckle and small smile that leaves him are downright adorable.    
  
“You want to take  _ me _ on a date for  _ your _ birthday?” He seems dumbfounded, his eyes searching hers.    
  
“You’re supposed to celebrate Belleteyn with food and drink, why not celebrate that and my birthday all in one?” She shrugs her shoulders, “And it’s a free space in my diary. Is that alright with you?”    
  
“Of course it’s bloody alright!” Cahir laughs as if she had just asked him the most pointless question in the world. He presses a quick, coffee-stained kiss to her lips, “I have to go get my stitches out this afternoon.”    
  
“That’s okay,” Gods, she can’t stop smiling and laughing, “I booked a table for later.”    
  
“And you knew I’d say yes?” He raises an eyebrow in that teasing way.    
  
“I had a good feeling.” She pokes his elbow, “After you get back, we’ll go. Get a bus there and I got a cab for the way back.”    
  
“Sounds wonderful.” His hand finds hers and weaves their fingers together, “Thank you.”    
  
“What sounds wonderful?” Angoulĕme asks as she bounds into the room, still in her dressing gown, hair a complete mess but not giving a shit either way about anything.    
  
Cahir rolls his eyes in Ciri’s direction before he turns to his beloved, adopted sister. Ciri decides to slide off the chair before she is pushed off, taking her coffee with her as Angoulĕme pops some bread into the toaster.    
  
“We’re going out later.” Cahir slurps up some coffee, “Is that okay, your highness?”    
  
“I don’t give a fuck, buddy.” Angoulĕme gets the butter from the fridge and then sends the most sarcastic smile Ciri had ever seen to Cahir, “You and your girlfriend can do what you want.”    
  
Neither she nor Cahir go to deny the phrase and Ciri feels stupidly lovesick as she smiles into her coffee cup.    
  
“You’re so lovely and a joy to be around in the morning, Angoulĕme.” Cahir nudges her in the ribs as she sits next to him, frowning as she chews on her toast.    
  
“That’s because you’re always hanging around.” She rolls her eyes and Ciri decides to go stand as far away from Angoulĕme and any kitchen utensils as possible.    
  
“Do you two do nothing but argue at this hour? Or is this the new routine?” Regis enters the room next, squeezing both of their shoulders as he passes and gently resting his hand against Ciri’s as he squeezes past her to get to the fridge.    
  
“It’s not my fault he’s become even whinier since leaving the hospital!” Angoulĕme argues.    
  
“And it’s not my fault she’s become even meaner and feral since I left that place.” Cahir practically hisses — oh, how she was glad to be an only child.    
  
“I think you two aren’t used to being around each other this much.” Regis is as wise as he looks.    
  
“Cahir and I are going out for an hour or two tonight if you don’t mind me stealing him for a few hours?” Ciri decides it best to chime in, watching as Regis expertly cracks some eggs into a pan.    
  
“Of course. It’ll be nice for him to get out of the house and into the public.” He sends Cahir a warm smile, similar to how Geralt would her. Despite all their shit, at least they both had a decent father figure.    
  
“It’s her birthday tomorrow, too,” Cahir says.   


“Well, Ciri, why didn’t you say anything?” Regis looks at her over his shoulder as he washes his hands.    
  
“I didn’t want any fuss.” It’s not like she’s lying — she didn’t. Her focus was on Cahir for the time being, he deserved and no doubt needed it.    
  
“You won’t find any here, then.” He smiles at her and she returns it, completely astounded at what a nice man Regis was. 

Each day it became more and more apparent where Cahir had gotten his manners from.    
  
“Hey, Ciri.” Angoulĕme talks far too loud than any person Ciri has ever met but after the first few days, she found she didn’t mind any longer, “Did Cahir ever show you pictures of his head?”    
  
“Angoul—”   
  
“I have them on my phone.” She continues, grabbing said device from the pocket of her dressing gown, “Do you want to look? It was hideous! More ugly than his face.”    
  
“Hey!” Cahir shoves her, almost knocking her off the chair, not that Angoulĕme notices, she’s far too busy cackling like a stereotypical witch.    
  
“Don’t bother starting a fight.” Dettlaff now enters the dining room, pushing his glasses up his nose with several items of the post in his hands, “It’s far too early in the morning.”    
  
“Ever the voice of wisdom and calm.” Regis seems somewhat sarcastic but Dettlaff doesn’t respond. Ciri noticed he was like that; cold and perhaps a little austere but not unapproachable, whereas Regis was his polar opposite.    
  
Opposites attract, she supposes.    
  
“A letter arrived for you, Ciri.” He hands her a small brown envelope that had Cahir’s address labelled over another one and a return to the sender from Toussaint’s home office stuck on the back.   
  
“Oh. Thanks, Dettlaff.” Ciri answers, taking the envelope from him before he retreats with his newspaper like he did every morning.    
  
Angoulĕme heads to go sit beside Dettlaff whilst Regis steals her old place beside Cahir with his breakfast in tow. Despite concentrating on the envelope, she notices Regis cupping Cahir’s chin and examining how nicely or not nicely his scar was healing.    
  
There’s exactly what she was expecting to find in the envelope and she has to try her hardest to not let the smile explode across her face. Quickly, she tucks it back in and seals the envelope best she can.    
  
“What’s in there?” Cahir’s voice makes her jump due to him now standing behind her and not over on his seat.    
  
“It’s a secret.” He frowns so she kisses his cheek gently, wiping the crease on his brow away with just the simplest of a touch, “I’ll tell you after dinner.”    
  
“Only if you want to,” Cahir replies, shifting some hair from her face as if they were not standing in a rather crowded, small kitchen. Ciri nods and flashes him a small smile. “Later, then.”    
  
“Later.” She murmurs in response as he kisses the side of her head before going to wash his dishes in the sink.    
  
Later.    
  
She can barely contain her fuzzy excitement.    
  
  


* * *

It had taken Ciri at least one to two hours to get ready. A sign that she had far too much time on her hands waiting for Cahir whilst he was still at the hospital.    
  
One of those hours contained a particularly stern phone call with Yennefer in regards to the dress she had sent her. It was a gorgeous dress, obviously — Yennefer had excellent taste — but Gods, she was nervous as she slipped into it, Yen on the loudspeaker.    
  
It was made from satin, the fabric ruched giving it an elastic look and tight, perhaps a little too tight with the thinnest straps to hold it up she had ever seen. Yen had chosen powder blue, claiming it made her eyes greener and went well with her hair.    
  
She also claimed it would drive Cahir wild before Ciri promptly said goodbye and ended the call.    
  
At least Yennefer had sent her flat shoes instead of high heels, Ciri thought as she paced from one end of Cahir’s bed to the other, struggling to find the right spot for her earrings. What was it with young men and their aversion to having a mirror in their bedroom?    
  
What made her more nervous was that Cahir had never seen her dressed up; only ever in jeans and a sweater or shirt, or that awful attire she had worn when she first met him.    
  
Ciri manages to slip her first earring in as she hears footsteps bounding up the stairs and the door swinging open.    
  
“Oh, sorry! I didn’t realise you were in here.”   
  
“It’s okay, it’s your bedroom.” She laughs, watching as Cahir steps inside the room and shrugs out of his jacket, “How did the hospital go?”    
  
“Quite well. They’re all out.” She doesn’t miss the way his eyes look her up and down, nor does she miss the way he takes a deep breath before he speaks again, “Great Sun, you look beautiful.”    
  
“Thank you.” She doesn’t mean to blush but she can’t help it and if he keeps looking at her the way he is, they’re never going to make it to the bus stop, “Let me take a look.”    
  
He steps forward into the light that’s still dimly coming through the window and turns his head for her to look. The scar has healed nicely, just a thin red line that looks a little jagged and an angry red still in some places. It doesn’t make him look any less attractive than she has always oddly found him. In fact, with the scar, longer hair and stubble on his chin, she thinks he could quite possibly be more attractive than he was a year ago.    
  
“It looks nice.” She says with a nod, cupping the scarred side of his face.    
  
“Nice is not the word I would use for it.” He sounds bitter and plagued by sadness that he can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard she tries.    
  
“Hey,” Ciri softens her voice as he places his hand atop of hers, “None of that talk in front of me and in general.”    
  
“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles, sadness and memories drifting away for the time being only to be replaced by that clear joy.    
  
“Oh, that reminds me.” She untangles them from one another and goes over to the numerous parcels she had received from Yennefer, “I got these for you.”    
  
Ciri bends down — as best she can in the cursed dress — to reach into the small suitcase she had gotten in the mail and withdraws, a moment later, a box of string lights. The frown on Cahir’s face is priceless.    
  
“What are they for?” Despite the frown, he steps toward her and takes them from her grip.    
  
“I thought instead of keeping your main light or a lamp on all night, you could hang these somewhere. They’re battery operated so won’t use any of the electricity.” His eyes flutter from the lights to her face, expression unreadable, “They throw out enough light but if you don’t want them—”   
  
“No, I do.” He chuckles but it comes out as more of a shaky exhale, “I just...What did I do to deserve you, hm?”    
  
Cahir discards the box for the time being on his bed and instead pulls her close, pressing several kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, chin and anywhere he can reach that is not her lips.    
  
“You stopped on that highway. Gave me a chance, was kind to me, took me home.” Ciri rests her hands near to his shoulders, “That’s what you did.”    
  
He kisses her then; intoxicatingly sweet, full of words he can’t say and ones she can’t either.    
  
“I’m going to go get changed into something that doesn’t smell like whatever bleach the hospital uses.” They chuckle scaringly in time with one another, “Do you have a coat?” He walks over to his wardrobe and picks a few clothes from it    
  
“Uh, no.” Ciri shakes her head, “At least, not one that will keep me warm in this.”    
  
“There’s a couple in there you can use.” He kisses her cheek swiftly as he makes his way out of the room, “Help yourself!”    
  
“Thank you!” She quickly calls after him before putting in her remaining earring.    
  
Her first plan of action is the lights.    
  
It is considerably hard to get up onto his bed in her dress but she makes it work despite being a little wobbly and the fabric hiking even further up her thigh. Things would be easier if he had a damned headboard but from her experience, he ended up sleeping halfway down the bed anyway so it would be a little pointless.    
  
She settles for hanging them around his curtain pole, twisting and entwining them in a certain way that wouldn’t interrupt the drawing of his actual curtains — Gods know there was more than enough light early in the morning with them closed.    
  
Ciri hops off the bed with a small thump and quickly slips her shoes on, silver and sparkling, and then roots around in the wardrobe for one of the coats Cahir mentioned. She finds a grey peacoat and slips it on; it isn’t too large but it covers her completely and is warm, with a light smell of cinnamon wafting over her senses.    
  
“Hey,” She calls in the direction of the bathroom as she exits the bedroom, slipping her phone out of the coat pocket and into her hand. Cahir pokes his head out a moment later, toothbrush hanging adorably out of the corner of his mouth, “I’ll meet you at the door.”    
  
“Okay!” Cahir splutters around his toothbrush and toothpaste before holding up two fingers to signal how long he was going to be.    
  
She nods her head with a smile and walks down the stairs, quickly unlocking her phone and tapping out a text to Yennefer.    
  
_ I can’t walk in this dress. _   
  
The reply is almost instant.    
  
_ A pity. Did you remember to take your birth control this morning? _   
  
Ciri growls under her breath, fingers typing quicker in anger than normal.    
  
_ I’m going to murder you when I come home.  _ _  
_ _ And yes.  _ _  
_ _  
_ Ciri pops her phone back in the pocket for the time being as Regis catches her attention, sat reading in the living room.    
  
“Hey,” She clears her throat to get his attention, “How are you?”    
  
He squints as he takes his glasses from the bridge of his nose, “I’m well, Ciri. And you?”    
  
“Well, too.” Ciri shuffles closer, leaning against the doorframe. Angoulĕme is curled up asleep on a chair next to Regis, “Where’s Dettlaff?”    
  
“Work. He got called in to sort something or other out.” He explains with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “It happens occasionally.”    
  
“I see.” She nods, “Cahir and I can stay in if you want? Keep you company.”    
  
“It’s alright.” Regis answers as Cahir bounds down the stairs, resting his hand on her shoulder once he reaches the bottom, “I may look old and almost frail but I’m quite capable of being by myself.”    
  
“Noted.” Ciri laughs.    
  
“Do you want me to take Angoulĕme upstairs for you?” Cahir asks gently, always kind and always caring.    
  
“That television show she loves is coming on shortly.” He explains more to Ciri than to Cahir, “You know how she wakes up when she hears the theme tune.”    
  
Cahir snorts, “Right.”    
  
“Now, stop worrying about me.” Regis demands, “Go and have some fun. You both deserve it.”    
  
“We will.” Ciri chuckles, heading away from the doorframe.    
  
“I’ll see you later,” Cahir replies, giving his foster father a small wave before he guides Ciri out of the door and onto the street.    
  
It’s quite cold for a Blathe evening and she draws her coat around her tightly, fastening the middle button to keep it closed. Cahir eventually catches up to her and for the first time, she grabs his hand and tangles their fingers together. Naturally, he doesn’t say anything but she doesn’t need to be a genius to see the way his cheeks rise with a smile.    
  
“So, where are we going?” He asks, squeezing her hand; his grip is firm and warm and she doesn’t want to let go, “Into town, I assume?”    
  
“You assume correctly.” Ciri answers as they reach the bus shelter; there’s nobody else around, in fact, the street itself is rather deserted, “A restaurant there.”    
  
“Oh, I’m being spoilt then?” He asks, grinning from ear to ear as he let’s go of her hand to sit on the metal bench provided in the shelter. “Interesting.”    
  
“Interesting?” She decides to not sit on the metal bench, not in that high of a dress and not on this cold of an evening, so she settles for Cahir’s lap and wraps an around his neck as his hand rests on her knee, beneath the coat, “Why interesting?”    
  
“Never been to any of the places in town.” He shakes his head, thumb rubbing against her skin; if he continued, they wouldn’t make it out of the damned shelter, “We always go out of town.”    
  
“I pulled a few strings.” Ciri shrugs, enjoying the way he’s looking at her far too much, “One of Geralt’s friends owns a place there and he owes a couple of favours.”    
  
“Oh?”    
  
“On the house, three-course dinner.” She catches his expression and laughs, “You seem surprised.”    
  
“I bloody am.” Cahir laughs in that shaky, astounded kind of way that makes her join in too, “You’re one of a kind, you know that?” 

“So people have said.” He squeezes her knee as she says it causing her to squirm before they both erupt into that chaotic laughter they create only around one another.

At least one good thing has come out of all their trouble. 

“Let’s not go into town.” She remarks as she sees the telltale sign of a bus further in the distance.

“What?” Cahir murmurs, moving some hair away so he could press kisses against the skin of her neck.

“We could go back to yours.” Ciri sighs, having trouble concentrating, “Or get a room…” 

“Tempting,” His voice is even more muffled, “I’m really hungry, though.” 

“You’re such a man.” She can’t help but laugh despite trying to sound annoyed so she gives him a light shove as the bus begins its approach.

“You shouldn’t have mentioned the three-course meal.” He chuckles to himself as he taps her knee, a signal to get off which she does just in time for the bus to brake in front of the shelter.    
  
It’s empty, nobody gets off and only they get on. Ciri places the right amount of coins in the compartment in front of the driver who prints off a ticket that she grabs and heads to one of the back seats.    
  
Cahir slides in next to her after he’s paid, arm going around her shoulders.    
  
“Did I tell you that you look beautiful already?” He whispers so it stays between the two of them, only existing in their secret whispers.    
  
“You did but I won’t stop you if you plan to compliment me the entire evening.”    
  
“Just telling you what I think.” Cahir presses a kiss to her cheek quickly; she blushes and Gods dammit he’ll be able to see with this ridiculous public transport lighting. 

“You clean up nicely yourself,” Ciri says, turning a little in her seat to see him better; tan peacoat, tight-fitting jeans and a fairly loose-fitting silk shirt, black, of course. It hugged all the right places, however. “Very nicely.”    
  
“Thank you.” It is his turn to blush now and he tucks some hair behind his ear, “I was thinking of heading to the barber’s tomorrow.”    
  
“Really?” Her eyebrows raise, “I think the longer hair quite suits you.”    
  
“Really?” It’s him who asks this time, voice gaining in pitch as if he can’t quite believe it, “Interesting. What about the stubble?”    
  
“Crazy attractive.”    
  
They both dissolve into obnoxious laughter, no doubt grating on the driver’s nerves as he heads into the town which is slightly busier but compared to Toussaint’s nightlife, it’s pretty dead. Perhaps they celebrated Belleteyn more traditionally here, in hidden woodlands, dancing around with ribbons and flowers in their hair. Of course, there was the tradition in Toussaint too but more often than not, the people were far more concerned with wine-making.    
  
“Perhaps,” Cahir begins, “I’ll be convinced to keep it.”    
  
“The hair?” She shifts to the side so she’s able to card her fingers through his locks, smiling when he does, “Or the stubble?”    
  
“Just the stubble.” He chuckles, “Sorry to disappoint you.”    
  
“I’m far from being disappointed. I do miss your curls.” He blushes, thank the Gods, “I’ll have to invest in some decent moisturiser. I can’t stand the beard burn.”    
  
Cahir hums and a smirk crosses his face, full of devilment, “I thought pretty girls always had a moisturizing routine anyway?”    
  
“So I’ve gone from beautiful to just a pretty girl now?” She clicks her tongue, “You’re going the wrong way for a second date, mister.”    
  
“Hey,” He pulls her closer, kissing the top of her head, “What makes you think I want one?”    
  
“I know you do.” She grins and he captures her lips quickly yet lovingly and she melts into his lips, his touch, his everything.    
  
The bus grinds to a halt with a screech and Cahir practically forces himself to separate from her; she understands how he feels because she feels it too. 

As soon as their feet are back on the pavement, Ciri takes his hand again and is still giddy due to how his hand feels entangled with her own. There’s no need to be swinging hands, gloating like she used to with Mistle — they just are together and that was all she needed them to be.    
  
“Didn’t this place used to have a different name?” He asks as they immediately get gestured in by a valet, “Wasn’t it Rosemary and Thyme?”    
  
“Yeah,” Ciri nods as they wait at the front desk, “But someone recently took it over. I heard it’s an improvement.”    
  
“I couldn’t say,” He shrugs as Ciri leads them to the elevator and pushes the button for the second floor, “Never visited.”    
  
“Well,” She begins as the elevator creaks upwards, “Now you get to make everyone jealous by saying you’ve been.”    
  
Cahir laughs and she catches him admiring her from the corner of her eye; she would be a liar if she said she didn’t like the attention — his attention especially.    
  
The elevator opens out into a private room — at least Dandelion can get some things right —, it has only one window that looks out onto the garden behind the restaurant, lights twinkling and glowing beneath the setting sun. There are several bare tables pushed to the edges of the room and one table set rather beautifully in the centre, a bottle of wine in an ice bucket and a rose in a vase in its centre.  _ That _ , she did not ask for.    
  
“Holy shit.” Cahir exhales, looking around the room and at the ceiling like a lost puppy.    
  
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”    
  
“Incredibly.” Mischief crosses his face as he offers to take her coat, “Though, not as beautiful as you.”    
  
“You are certainly full of it tonight.” She observes, helping her to shed her coat. He makes it seem easy, sliding it down her arms in one slick movement and placing it on the back of her chair which, ever the gentlemen, he holds out for her to sit.    
  
Ciri gently sits on the chair, mindful of the dress. Slowly, and almost expertly, Cahir pushes her chair in before shedding his coat and sitting in the seat opposite her.    
  
She wastes no time grabbing the bottle of wine. Ciri remembers exactly how to pop a cork properly from when she watched Cahir do it so perfectly at Metinna’s pier. The cork hisses and eventually pops somewhere into the corner of the room, making Cahir laugh.    
  
“You’ve gotten good at that.”    
  
“Had a good teacher.” She replies, pouring some of the red wine into the two glasses that had been placed out for them.    
  
Ciri realises, not for the first time, she is terrible at small talk. She has no idea why she feels something knotting in her stomach. It’s not like this is their first date, Gods know they were well past that, had past it long ago. It takes her another second or two before she realises that though this isn’t their first date, it most definitely is  _ her _ first date.    
  
There had been nothing of the sort with Mistle, nor Galahad and she had only hung out, for lack of a better term, with Jarre.    
  
“Good evening, welcome to The Chameleon.” The young girl that had appeared at the side of their table from nowhere gives a polite bow of her head, “I’m Celia and Master de Lettenhove has asked me to take care of you both this evening.”    
  
Ciri has a good giggle, “He’s going by Master de Lettenhove now, is he?”    
  
“Apparently so.” Celia answers, all professional charm and then, “It gets us a few funny looks.”    
  
“I bet.” She answers, taking a brief look at Cahir who is smiling at them both.    
  
“Could I get you anything else to drink?”    
  
“The wine is perfectly fine.” Ciri sends her a warm smile, “A menu would be nice.”    
  
Celia clears her throat, “Master Chivay has picked out a menu for you both already. He told me to inform you that he has exquisite taste and will not take no for an answer.”    
  
“Well, in that case,” Ciri mentally makes a reminder to send a seething text Zoltan’s way, “We’ll have what he suggested.”    
  
“I’ll bring out the starter as soon as its finishing touches are done.” Celia bows her head once again and Ciri waits for her to disappear into the revolving doors at the back of the room before she speaks.    
  
“They’re always like this.” She scratches her forehead, trying her best to ignore the shit-eating grin on Cahir’s face in between his wine sipping, “I should have taken us somewhere else.”    
  
“Hey,” He reaches out for her hand across the table, “I don’t mind. It’s peaceful and I learn more about the people you choose to surround yourself with at the same time.”    
  
“Don’t fool yourself,” She squeezes his hand, running a thumb across his still bruised knuckles, “I don’t surround myself with Master Chivay or Master de Lettenhove. They’re Geralt’s friends.”    
  
“In that case,” Cahir sighs, still smiling, always constantly smiling when he was with her, “Geralt surrounds himself with very odd people.”    
  
“You do realise that puts you in that category, right?”    
  
He snorts, “It does not.”    
  
“It does.” She can’t help but laugh, untangling their hands and sitting back in her seat, “You just pretty much called yourself a weirdo.”    
  
“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, finishing his glass of wine, “I’m more your friend than his now.”    
  
“Indulge me?” She asks, waiting for his nod of confirmation, “When you took me home that time, what did Geralt say to you in the garage that afternoon?”    
  
“Oh, that.” Cahir scratches behind his ear, “You know, just your stereotypical stuff. Asked me if I was just using you. I said no. Then, naturally, he threatened to break my kneecaps with his favourite steel baseball bat if I hurt you.”    
  
Ciri laughs, simply astounded, “You’re pulling my leg.”    
  
“No, I would never.” He’s laughing now too, blush setting on his cheeks, “He showed me the bat and everything. It was quite intimidating.”    
  
“Gods,” She covers her mouth with her hand to prevent herself from snorting obnoxiously, “I am so sorry.”    
  
“Don’t worry about it.” He shakes his head, still smiling as Celia returns, carrying two plates with such ease it almost makes Ciri jealous.    
  
She rests both of their plates in front of them and quickly scurries back in the direction she came from. Ciri was thankful for her quiet service, it made the night seem more peaceful and as if they were the only two people who existed at present.    
  
“Great Sun, this looks amazing,” Cahir states aloud, sitting up in his seat to properly look over the dish.    
  
The dish was extravagantly put together, perhaps one of the best looking dishes Ciri had seen. Though she wasn’t a large fan of lettuce, it still looked mouth-watering as several prawns and chunks of crab laid atop of it and was sprinkled to finish with avocado, cucumber and a thin cocktail sauce.    
  
“Thoughts?” She asks as Cahir chews thoughtfully on his first mouthful — a big one, naturally — before he washes it down with a gulp of wine.    
  
“So much better than hospital food.”    
  
They both dissolve into silence as they concentrate on their food; both of them had their priorities clearly in order. Occasionally, Ciri would discreetly look over at Cahir, admiring how content he looked and how utterly adorable it was that he tried to scrape every last bit of sauce from the bowl.    
  
“Enjoy that?”    
  
“Immensely.” He remarks, slipping his spoon into the bowl, “And you?”    
  
“Very much so.” Ciri releases her spoon into the bowl with a clatter, “And the company?”    
  
“S’alright.” He shrugs his shoulders and Ciri kicks his leg beneath the table, making him laugh, “Alright! Your company is far better than the food.”    
  
“That‘s what I thought.” She smirks proudly at him as Celia returns to gather the plates and take them back to the kitchen.    
  
It’s only a few moments before she returns, plates steaming as she places them in front of them, silent as ever. A perfect fillet steak is in the centre with a garnish containing herbs and garlic, along with some potatoes and various green vegetables that she very much doesn’t want to eat.    
  
“I can’t believe this is on the house…” Cahir sighs happily as he pops a piece of steak in his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews, “It’s amazing.”    
  
“It is.” She agrees, munching on her vegetables to get rid of them quicker, “What kind of food did you eat when you were on duty? You know, away from the base.”    
  
“Mostly dried shit.” He shrugs, cutting up his steak leaving Ciri envious of how he can do it so easily, “Or cold beans if we got stuck.”   
  
“Gross.”    
  
“So gross.” He agrees.    
  
She enjoys the way they can eat in silence without having to verbally know the other is enjoying themselves. They were always like that, enjoying one another’s company without having to be reassured. It was peaceful, enjoyable and Ciri had never experienced any of it before. But, if there had to be someone by her side for the first time, she was incredibly glad it was him.    
  
Celia, like clockwork, collects their plates and brings their last dessert. Cahir takes a deep breath when he looks at the heavy chocolate mousse cake and selection of fruit at the side but still grabs his spoon.    
  
“Hey,” He gets her attention as she starts to eat, savouring the sweet taste of the chocolate laced with salted caramel on her tongue, “Can I tell you something?”    
  
“Of course.” She swallows the impending panic with her dessert.    
  
“My leading officer was at the hospital today. Got there just after I arrived.” He looks at his plate, chasing a raspberry with his spoon, eyes distant and far away.    
  
“Do you hav— Do you have to go back?” This was the last thing she wanted to hear and she knows he is feeling ten times worse than her.   
  
“No.” A smile bursts onto his lips; carefree, happy and contagious, “Honourably discharged.”    
  
“Cahir!” Ciri explodes into happiness that she hasn’t felt in quite a long time, “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah.” He chuckles as he agrees, clearly looking embarrassed — not a single inch of him was made for boasting, “Offered me a medal for bravery too but I told him to shove it.” 

“I don’t blame you.” She reaches for his hand across the table again and he happily accepts, eyes so full of love that it makes her wish she ordered the taxi ten minutes earlier, “What will you do now?” 

“Honestly, I have no idea.” He entwines and releases their fingers over and over again as he thinks, “It’s odd, isn’t it? Having free time for the first time since you can remember and having no idea how to fill it.”   
  
“I suppose.” Ciri nods in agreement, “Well, what have you always wanted to do? What do you like to do?”    
  
“Uh,” He scratches the stubble on his chin with his spare hand, leaving Ciri mesmerised as she waits for an answer, “I like fishing, I suppose.”    
  
“Fishing?” Her nose wrinkles involuntarily, “Gods, you are old.”    
  
“Hey!” Cahir laughs, eyes creasing at the corners; it was then Ciri knew he was unbelievably happy, “It’s not my fault I’ve no interests.”    
  
“We can find you some.”    
  
“We?” His brow arches in her direction.    
  
“We.”    
  
There’s something different in his smile, something that she isn’t familiar with but she finds herself wanting to be. It’s then she decides that she wants to remember the smile for as long as she can, and wants to be the sole reason for that smile for as long as she can. At present, she wanted there to be no one else but him.    
  
Cahir finishes off the bottle of wine practically to himself, despite knowing it was no doubt going to have a negative effect against the pain medication he was still taking.    
  
Well, she wasn’t his mother. 

“The taxi will be outside soon.” She waits for him to finish inhaling the chocolate on his plate; she could just watch him doing the most mundane things and never tired of it.    
  
“Alright,” He stretches, elbows and neck cracking as he does — it still grosses her out.    
  
Cahir dips into his coat pocket and withdraws a note, gently placing it on the table near the ice bucket and Ciri follows suit before taking his hand and leading him out of the restaurant. 

They quickly say their thanks to the concierge and valet before the night air hits them, Ciri pulling her coat tightly around herself. As if he senses her chattering teeth, Cahir wraps his arms around her waist, his chin atop her head. Cigarette smoke wafts over her head — he was sneaky, she hadn’t heard him light it up.    
  
“I thought you weren’t supposed to smoke for a while.” Ciri tilts her head up to look at him properly though he’s looking into the road, “Or drink for that matter.”    
  
“How could I say no to that divine wine?” He remarks, “Good wine, good food and good company.”    
  
“Just good?”    
  
Cahir laughs, taking the cigarette from his mouth, “Good, fantastic, amazing,” He moves some hair from her face and kisses her cheek before slowly trailing down toward her neck, “Divine, beautiful, should I go on?”    
  
“I don’t mind.” Ciri’s eyes flutter shut as his lips find their way to her bare shoulder and it’s certainly not the air that makes goosebumps appear, “The cab driver might, however.”    
  
He curses under his breath as she wriggles her way from his kisses — she hates that she has to, they were gentle, warm and perfect — to open the cab door before slipping inside. Cahir joins her a moment later, after finishing his cigarette.    
  
The driver knows their destination and so he drives in silence, the only noise a low hum of the radio, playing some old jazz song. It sounds like something Cahir or Regis would know off by heart but she doesn’t ask.    
  
Her hand finds him a little while into their journey and though he’s looking out of the window, his attention is fully on her; he cradles her hand in his with such care, mindful not to twist too hard or yank them apart. She can’t help but brush her thumb over his knuckles each time, full of the memories of when they were bloody for her and now, they were just a horrible memory he wanted to forget.    
  
“It’s nice to see the night sky.” Cahir thinks aloud, startling her.    
  
“I bet it is.” She muses, shifting some hair from the side of his face.    
  
He hasn’t aged a day since they first met but the signs of it were present, in his voice, thoughts he aired aloud, even in the way he moved. It eats away at her sometimes, that he was there for her and yet she was just a little too late for him.    
  
Eventually, the cab grinds to a halt outside Cahir’s home and if she squints, she can see the dim light of the living room.    
  
Great.    
  
Cahir slides out of the car with a thank you and waits for her on the sidewalk, grabbing her hand once she’s out and free.    
  
“Any more plans for tonight hidden up your sleeve, then?” He asks inquisitively and just a tad cheeky if she were to judge by the smile on his lips.   
  
“Let me think.” She watches as he steps ahead of her, walking backwards into the house’s gate so he can see her, “Maybe one thing. Or two.”    
  
Ciri walks hastily, hopping onto the doorstep just in time for him to cup her face and brush their lips together. She can feel his deep frown against her forehead before he, rather masterfully, sucks on her bottom lip briefly. He pulls away and takes her hand, “Come on.” 

The front door clicks open and Cahir heads in first, treading lightly.

“Hey,” He greets Regis rather weakly — Ciri stifles a giggle as she shuts the door.

“Did you both have a good time?” He asks from the kitchen, seemingly preparing his essentials for his trip to work in the morning. 

“It was great.” Cahir nods with a smile, stepping on the first stair.

“It was.” Ciri joins in, “You should go some time. Tell them I sent you.”

Regis seems to mull it over, “Interesting. Maybe I’ll take that recommendation up, Ciri.” 

“You’re more than welcome.” She joins Cahir, now on the second step, resting her hands on the small of his back, “Goodnight, Regis.” 

“Goodnight.” Cahir leans over the bannister to shoot Regis a soft smile, still acting tired. 

“Rest up, Cahir.” He doesn’t seem wise to his deception but, he was a father to both him and Angoulĕme so there’s probably a hunch somewhere, “See you in the morning.” 

Cahir takes Ciri’s hand discreetly, all but pulling her up the stairs and into his room. As soon as the door is shut, his lips are on hers; frantic and hot and impossibly good.    
  
He pushes the coat off her shoulders and runs his hands down her arms, touch rougher than she remembers but still leaves her shivering as it once did. His lips quickly attach themselves to her shoulder, pushing the strap of her dress further and further down. Ciri struggles to get his coat off but he bends down a little — it’s all about cooperation — and she slides it off, her hands working on his belt in between kisses.    
  
“Why do you always have to wear a belt?” She growls against his lips as he laughs.   
  
“Well, they’re made to wear so that your pants don’t fall in pu—”   
  
“Shut up.” She cups the back of his neck, never releasing his lips from hers whilst his arm goes around her waist, hand sliding up her leg and beneath her dress.    
  
“How do I—” His question is cut off by a moan as her hand slips into his jeans, “Get this fucking dress off?”    
  
“Rip it for all I care.”    
  
“You look far too good in it to do that.”    
  
Talented fingers hook themselves into the hem and lift it with a bit of difficulty as it sticks in all the wrong places. Cahir eventually gets it over her head as she manages to  _ finally _ get him out of his pants.    
  
Ciri decides that she’s giving him no room to protest this time as she sinks to her knees and takes him in her mouth; she swirls her tongue along his length and Gods, she’s never heard such noises that sound so divine to her ears. Never has she wanted someone so much.    
  
His fingers tangle themselves into her hair tightly and she enjoys the sensation, moaning softly against him so he knows. His head tilts back as she watches, flush creeping up his neck, all unwound and desperate as he pleads her name, moaning gently, just for her.    
  
“Keep quiet…” She whispers as he looks down; Ciri keeps eye contact as she takes him back in her mouth whilst his hands run through her hair, keeping her grounded as well as himself.    
  
His small gasps and quiet moans only convince her to continue, even as he squirms and she rests her hand on his thighs.   
  
“Ciri,” He whispers, “Ciri…”    
  
She releases him and rests a hand against his waist as she kisses him, tracing his lips with the tip of her tongue and pushes him towards his bed. The backs of his knees hit the edge first and he sits down, dragging her along with him; Ciri quickly slides out of her pants before she straddles him, his arm wrapping around her waist as he moves them further up the bed.    
  
Ciri slides her hands up his shirt and pulls it off expertly and for the first time, even in the dim light of the moon coming through his window, she sees the red jagged scar across his torso.   
  
“Don’t stare at it.” His voice is still hoarse as he pleads, cupping her cheek.    
  
“I’m sorry,” She forces her eyes away and back to his face, “Why didn’t you tell me?”    
  
“You looked worried enough.” He swallows thickly, “Besides, look at it.”    
  
“I see nothing wrong with it.” She ducks her head down, feet briefly sliding to the floor and kisses the start of the scar, near to his hips, “It’s beautiful.”    
  
Cahir inhales sharply, resting a hand on her shoulder as she kisses up and up, “Why is it?”    
  
“It’s part of you.” Her kisses travel the entire length of the scar and she places the last in the hollow of his throat, “So — you know —”   
  
“I know.” He leans up to kiss her roughly but she enjoys it, even more so when his thumb rubs against her clit, making her back arch.    
  
His forehead rests against her shoulder as she lifts her hips for him to slide his fingers into her, the slick noises only deepening her hunger as she grinds against him, moaning gently. Cahir lays kisses on her jaw as she rolls against his hand; wanton and needy.    
  
“Fuck,” She wishes she could hate how he still knew her weakest and sweetest spots, that he could still drive her to the brink with his fingers alone, hated that he could get her writhing and pleading in minutes but she doesn’t hate him at all, “Please.”    
  
Cahir withdraws his fingers and grips her hip to lift her; Ciri understands what he wants and sinks onto him as he shuffles so that his back is resting against the wall. She uses it for leverage, one hand on his shoulder and the other flat against the wall as she begins to move slowly, tortuously and always looking at him.    
  
His grip upon her waist is strong and sticky but Gods, she loves it, adores him and it only urges her on. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and a frown line appears as he starts thrusting his hips up to meet hers. She lets out a strangled gasp as he does, always mindful they were not the only people around anymore.    
  
“So beautiful.” He grunts, kissing down her chest before he moves one of his hands up, caressing her; she can do nothing but arch to his touch, head tilting back as he reaches her breasts, calluses feeling delightful upon her soft skin. Cahir then takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks on the tip, his eyes closed and fingers that rested on her hip again digging into her skin.    
  
He pulls her hips down as his thrusts start to falter, moans muffled against her chest; he releases her and kisses her like she was about to disappear. Ciri can do nothing but focus on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and muffling her desperate cries against his hair. Cahir pushes his hips up into her and she’s sure she’ll have bruises tomorrow where his fingers have been but she doesn’t care and she cares even less as he shudders with a suppressed groan.    
  
Cahir pants gently as she pushes her hips into his, clenching around him as her pace becomes more frantic, skin glistening with sweat in the moonlight.    
  
“Let go, Ciri.” He whispers against her skin.    
  
His lips find hers again just in time to stop her scream, her body spasming as release washes over her, engulfing her.    
  
Cahir wraps his arm around her and lies his head back on the mountain of pillows; Ciri decides she doesn’t want to move, not now, if ever and rests her head beneath his chin, hand rubbing up and down his ribs. He smells like sweat, smoke and cologne and no doubt she does too but, if she could bottle it up and carry this memory with her forever, she would.    
  
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His voice is weak, soft, “Your hips.”    
  
“No, I liked it.” They both laugh at that whilst his fingers run up and down her back, making her shiver.    
  
“Noted.” He answers and presses a kiss to the side of her head.    
  
They lie like that for a while, neither of them wanting to move and neither of them minding at all. He makes quite a comfortable pillow and seemingly has no protests to her lounging across him. It’s the quiet times, however, where she finds herself thinking of the future again. There was going to be no tough parting this time or broken promises but perhaps a little distance is healthy. How the fuck would she know either way? Every other relationship suffocated her or fucked her over.    
  
“Can you see what time it is?” He murmurs next to her ear a little while later when her eyes were just beginning to shut.    
  
“Hang on,” She whispers, leaning over to look at his alarm clock — why the fuck did he keep it on the windowsill —, “Just gone one in the morning.”    
  
“Happy birthday.” He laughs as she grumbles, “Scoot on off, I’ve got something for you.”    
  
Ciri groans louder, more obnoxious, “I told you not to bother.”    
  
“I wanted to,” Cahir replies as she rolls off him and onto the cold half of the bed.    
  
Ciri shamelessly stares at him as he collects a dressing gown from the handle of his wardrobe and winds it tightly around himself before sneaking out of the door. Whilst she waits, Ciri collects her phone from the coat pocket and places it on the bedside table for when she rolls over half-asleep in the morning to check it.    
  
Cahir comes back into the room just as she burrows into the scratchy sheets and duvet of his, tucking them beneath her arms to keep her somewhat decent — not that she cared either way.    
  
“Do I need to close my eyes?” She asks doing so anyway and holding out her hands with a smile on her lips.   


It takes a moment for the bed to dip and something leather gets placed into her hand. He presses a gentle kiss to her lips as she opens her eyes.    
  
“Open it.”    
  
“Nothing’s going to jump out at me, is it?” She raises a brow, fiddling with the clasp of the lid.    
  
“Cross my heart.” He sits rather cutely, legs crossed beneath him and watching like he’s a child at Yuletime.    
  
Ciri narrows her eyes playfully and lifts the lid. Inside is a silver necklace, its pendant a rose gold ring and perched upon it, a silver swallow.    
  
“Oh…” That is all she can manage to say.    
  
“Do you like it?” He’s practically vibrating like an excited child, all happy smiles and eyes bright, “I, uh, searched it. Your name means swallow, right?”    
  
“Yeah.” She nods, tracing her fingers along the chain, “It’s beautiful, Cahir.”    
  
He presses a kiss to her cheek, shifting her hair out of the way, “I convinced Regis to take me into town.”    
  
“You shouldn’t have.”    
  
“I wanted to.” He’s earnest with his affection and it’s what she’s always wanted and more, “Can I put it on for you?”    
  
“I’d like you to,” Ciri answers with a faint smile, handing the box over to him.    
  
Cahir’s fingers are gentle as he takes the flimsy chain from its box and places it carefully around her neck; his fingers are cold against the still clammy skin of her neck as he clasps it together and finishes by placing a gentle — perhaps his gentlest yet — kiss just above where the clasp sits.    
  
“It’s beautiful.” She repeats and then leans back to successfully kiss him, putting every ounce of affection into it.    
  
“Like you, then?” He grins, shuffling out of his dressing gown and climbing under the covers with her; Ciri instantly wraps an arm around him.    
  
“Smooth.”    
  
“Always.” He winks but it’s more like a dodgy blink that leaves her in a bout of laughter and him trying his best attempt to quieten her but laughing too.    
  
Things quieten between them as Ciri traces patterns onto his chest; he always fell asleep easily before though, he isn’t asleep. She can hear the wheels turning in his head as he stares at the ceiling. She reaches up a little for the switch of his new lights and they instantly light up the room with a warm glow.    
  
“Cahir?” He hums in response, playing with the ends of her hair that sneak down her back, “About —”    
  
“Ciri—”   
  
“Shut up a minute.” He does as she asks and instead takes her hand in his, supporting her even without speaking, “I can’t say it, you know? Not yet. It doesn’t come easy to me, those words. They might to you but not me, not after everything.”    
  
“I know,” He whispers, “But, Ciri, you don’t need to tell me for me to know.”    
  
Gods, this was going better than she thought it was going to. She was expecting him to get offended, tantrum, throw her out or something similar. She should know by now that wasn’t his way. Ciri leans up to cup his cheek, to see if there’s anything sinister in his eyes, an ulterior motive but there isn’t and there never was.    
  
“And you?” She’s prying and doesn’t care, “How do you feel?”    
  
“I should hope you know, too.” He rests his hand atop of hers and turns to his head to kiss her wrist.   
  
“I adore you, you know?” Her words slip out and she doesn’t care. It needs to be out in the open and he needs to know it.    
  
Cahir smiles and it’s so bright that she considers looking away but he leans up and kisses her, tongue tracing her lips and she forgets about the rest of the world, her past and her most complex feelings for the longest moment.

* * *

  
  
Something bangs outside, almost vibrating the entire window and Ciri jumps out of her skin first and then practically springs out of the bed second.    
  
“Cahir.” All she receives is a grumble, watching as he throws his arm over his eyes, “Oi.”    
  
“Has someone died?” His voice is deep, gruff and goes straight to that lower part of her stomach, “No? Then shush.”    
  
“Someone’s letting off fireworks.” She nudges his shoulder, “It’s Belleteyn.”    
  
Cahir discreetly moves his arm and pops open an eye, looking at her; Ciri pouts cutely, fluttering her eyelashes.    
  
“Fine.” He groans, shuffling out of the bed, “But it’s three in the morning.”    
  
“And I owe you very much and a lot.” Ciri slides out of bed next, sliding on her pants followed by his silk shirt whilst Cahir opts for his dressing gown again. Whilst he’s not looking, she grabs the envelope from her small suitcase.    
  
“Okay, be quiet as we go down.” He quickly catches the kiss she places on his lips with a dorky smile, “Tiptoes only.”    
  
Ciri follows his lead, unfamiliar with the house and even more so in the dark. As if knowing her thoughts, Cahir reaches out behind his back with his hand which she accepts gladly. It doesn’t take him long to get to the back door which he unlocks with little effort.   
  
There’s a little bench in the middle of the garden he leads her to; it’s easy to spot under the glow of the fireworks. A purple one cracks above them, followed by a blue shower of stars.   
  
Cahir’s arm wraps around her, impossibly warm.    
  
“What’s that in your hand?” He misses nothing as she leans her head on his shoulder, passing the envelope to him.    
  
“Take a look.” She grins against his shoulder, trying her best to hide her excitement.    
  
Cahir opens the envelope and she wishes she had taken a photograph of his face and the sheer happiness present on it as he finds the little card and withdraws it.    
  
“Your driver’s license?” He laughs and it’s contagious, “You got it? Congratulations!”    
  
“Thank you.” She laughs, snuggling her head even more into the crook of his shoulder; she had forgotten the sound of his happy laugh. “I had a good teacher.”    
  
“You did, didn’t you?” Cahir links their arms together as another firework crackles in the distance.    
  
“I thought it would surprise you.” Something pink flashes above their heads.    
  
“It did.” He confirms, looking out into the distance and darkness of the garden; she knows he is taking in the night sky, after having it taken from him for such a long time.    
  
“With me in Toussaint and you here,” Ciri starts, already thinking of the good times within the distant future. Gods, she was stupidly happy, “I can just take a several hour drive and come see you. Then vice, versa.”    
  
“You’ve turned into an optimist.” He laughs though it holds no bitterness or mockery.    
  
“I thought, maybe, we could get that campervan out of the garage.” He turns to look at her, almost as if he was going to protest, “I’ll drive. From one edge of the world to the next.”    
  
His face softens then, “That’d be nice. Tell me where we’d go.”    
  
“I’d love to meet Mawr and Ceallach.” Ciri watches him watching the stars and fireworks reflecting in his impossibly blue eyes, “From here to Vicovaro, me and you. Then? Wherever we want. What do you say?”    
  
She could learn her lectures remotely, pull some strings. He was officially discharged, aching to learn how to live a normal life. It could be a small slice of perfect.    
  
“I’d love that, Ciri.” His voice wavers and she presses a soft kiss to his shoulder to keep the demons at bay, “But—”   
  
“But?” Panic rises in her and she swallows it so far down that she isn’t able to sense it anymore.    
  
“We can just stay here together a little while, can’t we?”    
  
Ciri moves some of his hair that frames his face behind his ear, her touch remaining gentle. She was still learning the power of gentle touches.    
  
There are several pops in the distance as a vivid green firework goes off, banging during its grand finale followed by several loud cheers.    
  
“We have all the time in the world.”    
  
Cahir pulls her in for a kiss as they’re surrounded by the night where nothing exists except themselves and now, she knows that's all that matters.    
  
Her happiness and his.    
  
It’s all that will. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and, it's over! 😭😭 thank you for reading and coming along with me & my emotions over this stupid road trip AU 🧡 thoughts & feelings are always very welcome! (I have tissues)


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